


Enasal

by Aearyn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, It's hard to tag this with the right relationships because, Mental Illness, Post-Trespasser, amputation/prosthetic, as we know, graphic depictions of loss, since solas is a jerk, the beginning is just after trespasser so it's solavellan but they're broken up, update: i tagged the relationship i'm weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aearyn/pseuds/Aearyn
Summary: Leanera Lavellan is trying and failing to get past Solas's betrayal; the loss of her arm a constant physical reminder, as if she needed it. A carefully crafted replacement of sorts does nothing to ease the darkness weighing upon her, as she descends further and further into despair. Only the vigilance and loyalty of her closest friends can keep her from destroying herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Leanera" means Dream of Light – pronounced Lay-AH-neh-rah

Leanera’s eyes fluttered open. Heavy, the weight that immediately swelled in her chest. Dense, inescapable. The smooth metal and wood of her left arm cut into her side – cut into her soul, more like, reminded her of a pain that never lessened, a darkness that never brightened.

She had to get out – couldn’t stay here, at Skyhold.

Where he had once been.

Where he lingered, still, his shadow on the frescoes he’d painted with such loving detail.

It had been easier the first time, after Corypheus. Then, she’d been able to believe that he just needed time; something had happened she didn’t understand, something with the orb. But not understanding didn’t mean she hated him, blamed him for leaving. He was always so strange, the way he spoke of past events and held them close, yet distanced himself from the present. She’d vacillated between certainty he would one day return, and conviction that she’d never known him at all, that he’d never really let her in.

In the end, the latter had proven all too correct, and now…

She found Cassandra in the war room. “Have we any pockets of Venatori left to be cleaned up? Bandits?” she demanded, abrupt, nearly breathless with the need to escape.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, watching, seeing, as always. “There are a few, yes, Inquisitor. Crestwood. Frostback Basin. That we know of.”

“I will go.”

“You are not yet used to your arm, Leanera,” Cassandra objected with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Perhaps you should—”

“I can’t.” Voice grating, hard.

Cassandra sighed. “I will go with you.”

“You needn’t. If there are things here to attend to.”

A pause. “The recruits are in the middle of their training – I can leave it to Cullen, if you wish to—”

“Do not worry. I will take Blackwall.”

Cassandra nodded.

“I wish—” Leanera broke off, shook her head. “Never mind. He has his own matters to attend to.” Varric had gone back to Kirkwall with her blessing, but now she wondered if she should have asked him...

But no. “I’ll ask Dorian if he has time before he has to return.”

Cassandra nodded. “And Cole, perhaps? There are not many left at Skyhold for him to help, these days.”

“Yes. I’ll meet them front in half an hour.”

“I do not know if they can be ready that—”

“Cassandra. _Please_.” Her gaze cut across the room, for one second leaving visible the heart that had been as surely destroyed as her left arm.

“Of course, Inquisitor. I will see to it.”

***

“Inquisitor, we need not fight every pocket of bandits we come across, you do realize this?” Dorian sighed, dismounting. Again.

“What is the point of the Inquisition if I do not fight them, hmm?” She drew her bow, dodged out of sight, leaving the others to follow.

They’d only been out for a few days, but had run out of fingers to count the number of conflicts they’d interceded in. Always fighting, sleeping little. The inquisitor anyway. The others found it hard to keep up.

Dorian trudged after her, Cole already disappeared into the trees; Blackwall hurried to catch up, grumbling again at his Inquisitor’s disregard for safety.

But there were only five foes, and by the time Blackwall arrived, she was cutting down the last one with her daggers.

Wiped them on her leathers, sheathed them again. Glanced at the farmers who were coming out of their house, gazing towards her with awe. Looked away.

Dorian shook his head as she passed him, headed back toward their horses. Made some excuse to the farmers who’d been victimized. Inquisitor trying to take care of the people, all that. He was better at it anyway; she couldn’t bring herself to speak with strangers, now. Had never liked to, especially shems, but now she could deal with no one but her closest companions.

Back at the road, and they were on the way to Crestwood once more. Leanera got ready to gallop away.

Dorian grabbed her reins. She glared. “Should have brought my hart. He would have taken your hand off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t healthy for you to ride full tilt everywhere we go, Leanera. And you know it.”

Chin firmed, nostrils flared. Mouth in a hard line.

“I understand, but please, for our sakes if not your own?”

She swallowed.

A short nod, and he let go. She consented to take a normal pace the remaining distance to Crestwood.

They arrived at night. Had stopped twice more for blood mages and some Venatori. But when they woke the new Mayor, Leanera waved aside her adulation and gratitude, and insisted on seeing the house in question immediately. An abomination supposedly trapped inside.

“My Lady,” Blackwall called gently. She stopped.

A hand on her arm, not restraining; imploring. “You should rest, save the demons for the morning.”

She took a deep breath, shuddering. Finally met his eyes. “I cannot sleep yet.” A whisper, but so full of meaning he could not fail to see.

He nodded, preceded her after the new Mayor, who, woken from her bed, was nonetheless pleased to show them what they’d come for.

“Just there, at the bottom of this hill,” she whispered as they came to the crest of the path. “I’ll just…stay back here, if you don’t mind. I haven’t seen it, but it left one of our townspeople dead, and the sounds coming out of that hut…”

Boards crossed every window, the front door. No light nor sound issued forth. Blackwall held his arm out and crept forward, sword at the ready. “You need not remain if you prefer not, Madame.”

“Of course I shall remain. I’m the Mayor, I must see this through.”

Leanera itched to enter the hut, barely able to restrain herself from dodging past Blackwall and throwing open the door.  

Just as Blackwall was going to reach for the door, Dorian hissed for him to halt.

“There are protections on it.” His whisper carried on the wind. “I can just see them. Stand back.”

He conjured a small wreath of flame around his hand, flung it at the door.

The sound of breaking glass; suddenly the door was wet, steaming. A low wail crept out from underneath – tortured, or afraid, or both.

Did an abomination make such a noise? Or a frightened mage? Could be either.

Leanera glared at the mayor. “Details. Now.”

The mayor blinked. “Umm…two of the villagers saw smoke coming from the hut, several days ago. It’s been abandoned for years. Squatters, they figured. But when they went in to check…there was a monster. A beast, an abomination was what they told me. Huge, hideous. It blew them out of the house, froze old Horace to death. The other was brave enough to lean against the door to keep it inside, until he got someone’s attention and they helped him board up the whole place.”

“You think that an abomination could not have simply destroyed the door to escape? That it could not escape through one of the windows if it so chose, before they were covered?”

The mayor seemed at a loss. “I…I don’t know much about magic, Inquisitor. Where I come from all the mages was kept in the circle, we did not see what they can or cannot do.”

Flared nostrils indicated to her companions that the Inquisitor was near the breaking point with this woman.

“Thank you ma’am, I think we’ll take it from here,” Blackwall suggested hurriedly. His sheer size as he approached her was enough encouragement; she left.

“Maker’s balls,” Leanera muttered, walking up to the door. “It could be anything…”

“Hurts,” Cole whispered. “Can’t tell them, can’t tell us, no one understands…”

“It’s not an abomination, is it, Cole?” Leanera’s eyes, wide, worried in the moonlight.

“It IS. Is an abomination, _is_ an abomination, _an abomination_ —”

“Cole!” Leanera pulled him away from the hut, gently. His hand shook. “Stand back, alright? Don’t be upset, we’ll find out what it is.”

He stood obediently, back near the path, rocking back and forth on his heels.

A nod to Blackwall and he reached for the door again. Over his shoulder: “Dorian? A barrier, in case?”

Soft blue light sprung up around him.

He pulled decisively on the boards barring the door. One, two, three. Leanera tilted her head, some echo prompting her to wish that it could be that easy – rip the anchors off her heart, let it breathe again. One, two, three. But no – there would be no breathing for her.

The door was open; shield up, his glow lighting the inside of the hut, Blackwall crept forward.

She was right behind him, and at the same time they perceived that the occupant of the cabin was not what anyone had led them to believe.

That wail again, this time more of a growl. Panting, teeth showing, fingers curled into claws.

Ice dancing around the hands; a threat, a promise. A defense.

She grabbed Blackwall’s arm, pulled him back. “Let me.”

“My lady, no, it’s dangerous, you can’t—”

Soft blue cast a new shadow across the floor as Dorian extended a barrier to her as well. An angry glance behind let the mage know his encouragement was not appreciated, not by the warrior, at least.

But he stood down, his shield ready, but lowered.

Leanera knelt before the “abomination.” A small right hand out; she would not show him the left, not yet. Palm up. Supplication, an offering. Peace?

After long, tense moments…the ice crackled once, and dissipated. Its wielder sagged against the wall where it sat, emaciated, parched. Near death.

“Why did Cole say you were—” she began, but quickly realized.

To a Qunari, a mage off a leash was indeed an abomination. A mage at all, perhaps, regardless of how they’d been used in the battle a few months ago.

Lips sewn – not for speaking, these mages, or even for living, really. Not according to their people. How she wished to cut him free, so he could scream out in earnest—but that would have to wait. He would not trust her with it yet.

She offered her canteen first; he put the leather spout to his lips, drank greedily, some water dribbling down his chin. Heaved a sigh.

Something in his eyes though; he so wanted to make her understand.

She brought out her dagger. Ignored the hiss from behind; Blackwall couldn’t see this one’s eyes. The pleading. Those eyes she held as she neared his mouth with the blade. Looked down briefly; one motion and the threads were cut.

Immediately the Qunari reached up and ripped the threads from his mouth. “I thank you, elf,” he rasped, and Leanera rocked back on her haunches. She’d expected his speech to be halting, learning how to use lips too long restrained.

“I have not always been this way,” he whispered, his eyes frequently darting behind her to the much larger presence of Blackwall in the room.

“Why did you kill that human? A few days ago?”

He shook his head. “Accident. I expected my people to come after me. Not for stupid villagers to barge in. I could not…I could not let them take me again.”

She gave a short nod. “Very well. You must come with us. Back to Skyhold. You can tell us your story in the morning; tonight you eat. And we rest.”

He stared. “You would accept me to dine among you? With no proof I am not dangerous, besides my word?”

“You have not even given me that,” she replied with the ghost of a smile.

“I do give it,” he replied, curiosity written in his voice.

“Good, now you must eat. Come.”

She stood, reached out her hand again. Helped him up – a strange and unbalanced image, his bulk nearly thrice hers. Bigger than Blackwall, even, his horns nearly brushing the beams.

“I pose no threat to you,” the Qunari assured Blackwall, whose eyes never left him.

“I do not doubt her judgment. But forgive me if I don’t drop my guard that easily.” Firm, but without rancor. The Qunari bowed his head slightly as he preceded him out the front door.

“Where is Cole?” Leanera was asking. As if summoned, he appeared over the crest of the hill, leading all their horses in a line.

“Can’t stay in the town,” he said softly. “Scared of the abomination. Won’t like it.”

Sometimes Cole seemed so oblivious to the peculiarities of people, and yet other times he was all too astute.

“Thank you. Agreed – we will make camp just over the next hill. Dorian, could you inform the mayor we’ve her…trouble handled and will not see her again?”

“Not in so many words,” he replied drily, “but yes.”

***

Half an hour on they sat around a campfire. The Mayor had given Dorian most of a meat pie for their dinner; nonplussed by their dismissal but happy to be done with the issue.

The pie was enough to supplement their rations, with now an extra – and ravenous – mouth to feed.

His name: Arojan. Escaped from his people two years past, during the confusion after Leanera closing the final rift. He had found some Tal-Vashoth, then. Joined them; they removed his bindings, taught him to speak. But some weeks ago, his camp had been raided by Qunari – possibly, to Leanera’s mind, the Viddasala’s people – and he and another had been taken captive. For days upon end he was made to travel with them, his bonds re-sewn, his new masters trying to bend his will to the Qun once more.

Again he broke free, during a storm. He had found the hut, immediately made a fire; would never get used to Ferelden weather, he said. Not long after the humans had come bursting in, then boarding up the house. He hadn’t eaten for days, only had a little water because of a leak in the roof.

As a Dalish elf, Leanera knew what it was like to be outcast, but his story was much more extreme than hers had ever been. She couldn’t fathom being silenced so; an outrage, an affront to any living being.

“You must come back to Skyhold with us. We will find a place for you.”

“Why would you help me? Why are you not afraid? Even your humans do not fear me.”

A soft chuckle, no smile, but Blackwall’s eyes darted to hers for a moment.

“ _My humans_ , as you say, have been through a lot, as have I. We know better than to fear someone based on a rumor, or condemn them based on a lie.”

“You are wise, Inquisitor. And I thank you and your friends for your aid. Were it not for you I would have eventually starved.”

She nodded. Stood up abruptly; handed her half-eaten dinner to Arojan. “I’ll take the first watch. Cole, I’ll wake you when I need sleep.”

“Always need it, never get it, can’t let it see you,” he mumbled.

“Cole, please.” A whisper, a plea. He was quiet.

She walked outside the circle of the fire, just. A tree with a low hanging branch stood nearby; she jumped and caught the branch, and began pulling herself up, one, two three.

If only she could lift her spirits so easily. One, two three.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her nickname, Lean, is pronounced Lay-AHN.

Once Arojan was deposited at Skyhold – Cassandra’s disgusted noise and Cullen’s sigh notwithstanding – Leanera took time only for a shower, and to restock, before heading out again, this time to Frostback Basin.

Mostly the place made her itch; an allergy to one of the too-big leaves on too-big trees found there. And that swamp…not her favorite. But she was sure they’d encounter plenty of…resistance on the way. More bandits, more blood mages, she didn’t care. She just needed to take her pain out on someone else, someone who deserved it. Do something that was good for someone, if not for her. It didn’t help, but it kept her busy, and anger was better than despair.

She asked Cole to stay, to help Arojan, she told him, not really knowing why she bothered to lie.

“You don’t like when I talk about it,” he said, ignoring her request.

“About…about what?”

“The absence. It’s eating you, I could help, I could make it better –”

“I don’t want to forget!” Practically a shout, and instantly regretted. “I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright. You will. Forget. Even without me. And it will be good.” She stared, tears burning hot, but not falling. He changed the subject. “I will help the Qunari, yes. He needs it. He has torment inside him too.”

A breath she didn’t know she was holding rushed past her lips. “Thank you, Cole.”

Next was convincing Blackwall they needn’t tear Cassandra from her duties, or wait for Bull’s return.

“I do not think it wise, my lady, we are used to operating with four of us together, and then your arm—”

That flare of her nostrils was so familiar to him now, he interrupted himself. “You are quite skilled with it already, and no I’m not just saying that to avoid you hitting me with it.”

He glanced at her mouth as a shift in the pursed lips revealed a dimple, however fleeting the expression.

“What if I promise not to attack foes that aren’t directly in our path? That should cut down on the danger, right?”

He shook his head in defeat. “I see I cannot convince you. If you can get Dorian to agree, we shall set out. But don’t let Cassandra find out.”

She put a finger to her lips. “I don’t intend to tell him until we’re ready to leave the stables.” He stared; she shrugged. “If I told you at the gates I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t turn right around. He’s easier to wheedle than you are.”

“You have no idea,” he mumbled, and disappeared into the stable to ready the horses.

His meaning was a mystery, but soon enough they were setting out, and she forgot about it. Dorian raised a strong objection, looked to Blackwall for support, got none. Sighed with resignation.

But just as they cleared the gate—

“Oh! I’ve forgotten one thing,” Dorian called, and waved over one of the soldiers nearby. Leaned down to whisper something to him; Leanera caught the phrase “just in case”. Narrowed her eyes.

“Almost forgot about my plants.” An airy wave. “Can’t let them dry out whilst we gallivant in yon heathen valley, now can we?” Trotted past her, then out the gate. She could do nothing but follow.

***

At every stop, she slept less. Had to try harder to exhaust herself. Every night she trained, but the lack of enemies on the road, and the promise she’d made not to seek them out unduly, meant less exercise during the day.

Upon spotting any foe, she was off the hart – she did bring him this time, and Dorian stayed well away from her reins – and into the trees, climbing one to get a better look. Attacking when she saw the need, sometimes running in with her daggers, heedless of Blackwall’s role as vanguard. He said nothing, merely caught up, joined the fray.

She nearly paid for her recklessness. Rumors floated about among the villagers - bandits preying on outlying farms. Leanera wasn’t supposed to go seeking them, but eventually after several reports even Blackwall agreed they should look into it. Leanera quickly rushed into the trees, following a faint trail from the road. Seeing that there were only two combatants, she hopped out from her hiding place, made short work of one, and went after the other.

Except there weren’t only two – there were only two from that direction. Several more closed in from the opposite side of the clearing – Leanera’s attention refocused, leaving her open to the first bandit’s reprisal.

A huge hammer whipping in her direction; she could almost hear its song as it cut through the air toward her. Impossible to dodge it; he was aiming for her chest, ducking would only put her head in its arc instead. All this flew through her mind in a split second, but just before his weapon made contact, crushing her bones in one blow, a cacophonous clang echoed through the woods.

Blackwall was there, turning the blow aside, enormous greatsword shining brightly in the afternoon sun. Like some avenging spirit he beat back their foes, while Dorian neutralized a few of them with an ice spell.

Leanera blinked, got her senses back; Dorian had taken out one of the other five, there were four left, all temporarily frozen. She refocused on the big one; he was making ground. Silently she crept up behind him; his slow swings were easy to track, predict. Blackwall kept his attention easily. Just as he pulled back for another strike, she jumped, using his own arm as a foothold.

Danced up to his bicep – reached out – planted her dagger in his thick neck.

She rode his corpse down as he fell, rolled away to address the others as they began to come free of Dorian’s stasis. Archers backed away, raining arrows down on them; Blackwall batted them away like flies as he followed. She stayed behind him, ducking from behind the cover of his broad form to send volleys back toward their foes.

Soon they were all dead, and after checking around for stragglers, they headed back to the road where they’d left the horses.

“I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t do that again, my lady,” Blackwall mentioned as they mounted again. Always polite. To her anyway.

“I’ll do my best,” she said seriously. “And I do very much appreciate your aid, my warrior.” Something she’d always teased him with, since he insisted on calling her “my lady”. His sigh told her it exasperated him just as much now as it always had, and had she not felt the rush ebbing, her blood beginning to calm, she might have smiled.

She did _try_ to remain distant, shooting from range only, but sitting in the tree and picking off foes did nothing to silence the constant drone in her head. Only the rush of combat, the physical exertion, could do that. And sometimes, vast quantities of spirits. But those were rarely found on the road, only when they stopped at a good inn.

Several nights in, they did so, at a little town north of Redcliffe. From there forward they would be trekking off the main road, stopping gat Inquisition camps here and there for the rest of the journey. Leanera knew they could all use a good night’s sleep and a bath before that. She most of all, if she could get it.

Bath was first on her agenda. Then dinner – mostly left on the plate, as usual. Then she won them a pile of coin drinking two (large, male) patrons under the table. Blackwall tried to warn them, but her appearance was deceiving. She tossed the bags to the innkeeper, dumbfounded behind the bar, and told him to make them some more supplies for the morning.

Then promptly passed out.

***

Blackwall and Dorian shared a long look before the former easily lifted the lanky form of the Inquisitor, to carry her upstairs.

“She’s getting worse,” Dorian mumbled as he followed him up the narrow stairwell.

“I know.”

“I’ve nothing else to try, I’m not skilled in healing, I’ve only picked up a few skills in the past couple of…well.”

“I know,” came the stoic reply. Dorian shook his head, exasperated.

“We can’t let her go on like this! She’ll kill herself!”

Blackwall stopped just inside the doorway to the Inquisitor’s room, his large mass a counterpoint to the tiny quarters, and to his burden, who seemed slighter, softer in sleep. Her long fawn braid lay over his arm, the intensity of her deep green eyes shuttered.

“I am well aware of the danger, Dorian,” he replied, his voice surprisingly somber, along with eyes that seemed so much brighter now that his beard was no longer there to distract the gaze. “But I know of nothing we can do. Save follow, and be there when she needs us.”

Dorian sighed heavily. “You’re right. I wish she had some…family we could enlist. Someone who might be able to reason with her, but—”

“We _are_ her family, Dorian,” he pointed out as he laid his charge in her bed, then pulled off her boots, and drew the cover carefully over her. She stirred little. “She cut ties with her clan for a purpose. And besides, I don’t think it’s reason she needs.”

“That…is true enough. But I am no expert in affairs of the heart, so I do not know what—”

“Aren’t you?” Blackwall asked, the blue of his gaze piercing Dorian from across the room.

Dorian looked away. “Of course not. Obviously.”

He preceded his companion out the door, and Blackwall shut it behind them.

“I’ve experienced great loss,” the taller man said quietly, looking down. “But to be…betrayed, like that – no, not even just betrayed, but abandoned, _then_ betrayed, then physically attacked…and then abandoned again? What do you think you would do?”

Dorian blinked. “I…suppose I would drown in despair. I might not even be strong enough to…try to distract myself.”

Blackwall nodded. “Time must heal her wounds, surely. But how much time remains yet to be seen, and I believe she is at the worst of it now. There is nothing else we can do but be here for her.”

Dorian stared hard at him. “Blackwall…”

“I’m going to bed,” the other said abruptly, and entered the bedroom to the right, shutting the door with a snap.

Leaving the mage in the hallway, his suspicious glare fixed on the door in question.

***

Morning – heavy, crushing, suffocating, as always. She couldn’t return to sleep; her head throbbed. Stupid, to have drank so much, but she could hardly exercise herself to exhaustion in the middle of the inn. It seemed a good idea at the time…

Boots…at the foot of the bed. Had she done that? Couldn’t remember. Had to open her eyes enough to see the wash basin, wash her face. Then stumbled downstairs.

Everyone asleep still – it wasn’t even dawn. But she heard voices in the kitchen.

Pushed open the door, much to the shock of the Innkeeper’s wife. Three of them in the kitchen – gods, she should have realized she’d have to speak with them all…but she had to get this over with.

“Sorry to intrude – have you any royal elfroot for—”

“For hangovers? Of course dearie, just a tic.” The plump woman quickly made her a tea with a few drops from a vial on a shelf. Smell was actually pleasant – she ought to get the recipe. She drank it, singed her tongue. Blew on it a few seconds, then drank it down, ignoring the burn in her throat.

Set the cup down on the counter and gave the matron a little bow. “Thank you, madam.” A silent blessing on this friendly shem with no need for grating chit-chat.

Back up the stairs at a jog. Belt on, daggers in sheaths, bow on her back.

She should wait for them. Wake them. She couldn’t just take off alone…

But the physical pain in her head was nothing to the weight of despair that flooded her each time she was awake. She would go crazy if she didn’t start running soon.

She left a note. “Started without you, woke up early. You’ll catch up.”

Only possible because she was going on foot, although she had the hart with her. He would come when called, even if she strayed off the path.

Down the road just a bit, then off to the east, a trail wound up into the foothills, away from Lake Calenhad. She took it. Soon she’d left the main thoroughfare behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Blackwall paced in the yard of the inn, his armor clanging with every step, until Dorian shouted at him to stop, trotting down the steps, the provisions they’d asked for in his hand.

“Come, we’ll catch up to her, do not worry so!” he admonished, stowing the food in his saddlebag.

“You’re forgetting something, mage,” Blackwall growled, and Dorian blinked at his tone. “Only one of the three of us is very good at tracking. And it’s not you or me. If she goes off the trail at all, we’ll never find her!”

“Which is precisely why I’ve left word for Cassandra when she arrives in a couple days’ time, to be prepared to track down our errant Inquisitor.”

“You—what?”

“I already told Cassandra to come after us, for I feared Leanera’s state would deteriorate.”

“I…oh. I see.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”

“Alright fine, I’m sorry,” Blackwall mumbled.

Dorian chortled as they left the inn yard. “Ahh, rather ungracious, but I’ll take it. Now, let’s see if we can find her and render Cassandra’s dissatisfied noises unnecessary, hm?” He put heel to his horse and shot off down the road, leaving Blackwall to follow with a growl.

***

She continuously gained distance from them. She was stopping at the camps along the way, the ones that were already set up – but only for a few hours at a time, gone in the morning, the Inquisition scout on watch not even noticing her departure.

She spoke to no one. Her mien was such that forces at the camp didn’t even dare to ask after her well-being; her expression was hard, but almost frenzied. They worried for her, but kept their distance, as she seemed to wish.

Dorian couldn’t keep her pace, and eventually Blackwall couldn’t either. Though he’d been a soldier, and in name a Grey Warden, and had experience with long marches with little sleep, it had been some time since one was necessary, and he was out of practice. When both suffered injuries against a few bandits they encountered in the wood, they decided they had to sleep at least four or five hours or they’d be useless to anyone.

That night, they slept seven, and consequently lost even more time on their quarry.

The next day, they found the hart. Thinking they’d somehow managed to catch her – though it seemed impossible, given when she’d passed through last night’s camp – they approached the beast. Only to find the saddle had been removed – it was nearby, but Leanera was not. The saddlebags were nearly empty.

Blackwall nearly lost his composure for a moment, convinced that Leanera had been killed. But Dorian reasonably pointed out that the saddle was a very good one, and if bandits had attacked her, they likely would have stolen it. Nor would the hart be nearby, grazing peacefully, if its master had been viciously attacked.

“You don’t think…she might’ve…”

“I do not think; for what purpose would she remove the saddle, and what little rations she had, in that case?”

Blackwall nodded, getting a hold of himself, and suggested they make haste to the next Inquisition camp. Perhaps they would have seen her; neither he nor Dorian had the skill to check the perimeter of the clearing to determine her direction, so they had little other choice.

 She had been there – nearly a day before. On foot. The requisitions officer had dared to ask her whether she needed a new mount; but where a sharp reply was expected, even a shout, her voice came out flat and blank. No, it wasn’t necessary, she told them. She merely needed to rest for a few hours.

She was gone in three.

Blackwall sat heavily on the cot inside the tent the Inquisitor had so briefly slept in. “What is she doing, Dorian?” he whispered, almost as if to himself.

Dorian stood in the entry, staring at the dirt floor covered with straw. “It seems you have a better understanding of her mental state than I do.” He was quiet, as if by speaking up he might shatter what little composure they had left about the whole situation. “I can only hope she’ll stop when she reaches our destination. She can’t very well set off into the mountains alone, without even a mount.”

Blackwall nodded silently. “I can only pray she makes it that far. She must be worn so thin, by now…”

Dorian could not deny it – running such distances as she had, sleeping so little. She would kill herself.

Blackwall lowered his head into his hands. “If I knew how to pray to Mythal, I would – though I suppose after what we learned at the Exalted Council, even Lean might not do so…”

Dorian glanced at him sharply. “You are…much better versed in Elvhen lore than you were when I met you,” he observed, not mentioning how the warrior had said the Inquisitor’s name.

Blackwall looked up, then away. “I’ve studied it a bit, is all.”

“Mm. Well, I suppose we may as well sleep a bit; we can’t possibly reach the next camp tonight.”

His companion reluctantly agreed, but this time they ensured they’d be awoken in no more than six hours.

***

Cassandra caught up with them just before they reached Frostback Basin – she’d brought one of the Ferelden Coursers, a quicker mount than the ones Dorian and Blackwall had been riding, and possibly one of the few who could manage the hours they’d been keeping.

She shook her head at their exhausted and disheveled state; she was in better shape than both of them, she pointed out, and suggested they start putting in more training hours when they returned to Skyhold.

“I left the scout in the night at the second camp – since she’s been keeping to the main path, I judged it unnecessary for him to all ride hell for leather across the land in search of her.”

“Maker, I wish the same could be said of us,” Dorian mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to straighten his tunic. “I may weep tears of joy when we reach the camp in the Frostbacks – they have real baths in those treehouses.”

“So you hope,” Cassandra said skeptically, eyebrow arched. “There are not as many outposts as before, they may have reduced the amenities—”

“Must you be such a killjoy?”

“We should just ride on – if Lean has made it there we’ll find out soon enough,” Blackwall cut in, putting his heels to his horse and trotting off ahead of them.

Cassandra and Dorian shared a look, but said nothing, merely followed.

They were still several hours out from the camp when Blackwall reined to a halt – a raven was flying directly down the path toward them.

A little piece of paper was tied to its foot.

It landed neatly on Blackwall’s saddle horn, and after glancing at the other two, grave uneasiness in his face, he reached down and untied the little parcel. The bird immediately took flight again as he unrolled the paper.

“ _Inquisitor here. Injured, ill. Make haste_ ,” he read out loud. He cursed under his breath, balled up the paper, and abruptly urged his horse to a gallop again, leaving Cassandra and Dorian in the dust.

They arrived at their destination in record time, their horses spent and sweating. Harding met them at the gate to the main Frostback encampment with a worried look.

“I was so sure I was paying our old stomping ground a visit for nothing but nostalgia,” Harding said by way of greeting, lines of worry etched in her face, “but I’m glad I was here when she arrived. Well – arrived is a misnomer. She was brought.”

“Where is she? Is she still—” Blackwall was very clearly just refraining himself from taking Harding by the shoulders as he asked.

“She’s okay,” Harding assured him. “At least…she’s not dead, but the healer here isn’t sure what’s wrong with her. I’ve sent for an Avvar healer…just in case. I hope you don’t mind,” she added as an afterthought, glancing at Cassandra.

“Of course not. The Avvar proved to be great allies in this place a few years ago, and our ties to them have only grown sense. You were wise to send for them.” Cassandra dismounted more calmly than Blackwall had, but she was no less concerned for her Inquisitor – her friend. “Your note said she was injured?”

Harding nodded, and gestured to a soldier to take care of the trio’s horses. “She’s not here, by the way. She’s at one of the other camps – she was nearby there when they found her, and not understanding her injuries the scouts didn’t want to carry her any further than necessary.”

“Which one?” Blackwall demanded. “We must—”

“Let Harding give us the details, Thom,” Cassandra said gently, laying a hand on his arm. “If she’s unconscious and a second healer is on the way, there is nothing to be gained by rushing to her side.”

He scowled, but gave a terse nod, and waited for Harding to continue.

“She didn’t use the regular approach,” Harding explained, “the one you three took. She came into the valley in a rather roundabout way, and the scouts later told me they found a few dead fade beasts along her path.”

“Damn! Alone!” Now even Dorian was brought to exclaim over the Inquisitor’s recklessness.

“Exactly. They found her in the river – not mortally wounded, or anything, but with a lot of little injuries, and collapsed, unconscious. That was yesterday; she hasn’t woken up yet.”

“She came on _foot_ , Lace,” Blackwall ground out. “Practically all the way from that inn near Redcliffe.”

Harding blinked.

“She left just before we did. And we got here a day after her. Perhaps now you understand what’s wrong with her.”

“I…damn.” Harding seemed at a loss for words, but quickly shook herself. “Alright, well I’ll take you to the central camp, where they carried her. It’s not far. We can just go on foot, the quickest path isn’t the best for horses.”

She set off at a jog out of the side gate, heading east, and they followed close behind.

***

“I can try to ask the Gods about the cause of her malaise,” the huge Avvar explained to Harding – the size difference even more notable as he bent to speak to her, “but I see nothing physically that would be enough to knock her flat like this. She is made of stern stuff, that much we know.”

“I would say yes,” Harding answered, but glanced at the three companions behind her. “But I’m not sure her advisers would be amenable to—”

“Of course we are,” Blackwall interrupted. Dorian raised an eyebrow, and Cass crossed her arms, staring at him. “You all know very well that despite being Dalish Leanera never looks down on other faiths or ways of doing things. It is one reason why she stopped speaking to her clan, because they could not do the same. You can’t tell me you think she’d object to having the Augur do whatever he deems necessary to heal her?”

The others looked away, and were silent a moment.

“He’s right,” Dorian sighed, glancing ruefully at Cassandra. “She would take no issue with it, and we shouldn’t either.”

Cassandra nodded decisively. “Agreed. Stone Bear Hold are our allies, as I have said, and I appreciate you coming yourself, Augur, to see to her.”

The Augur gave a little bow. “I of course take the health of the Inquisitor very seriously.”

Harding ushered them out, leaving the Augur to do his work – thankfully he’d come prepared.

Blackwall and Cassandra went to tents on other platforms to bathe, and rest depending on how long the Augur’s ritual took. Dorian accompanied Harding back to the main camp, determined to partake of the “real bath” in the cabin there.

“You’re leaving Lean so you can take a better bath than you can here?” Blackwall asked accusingly.

“Well if she wakes up and finds me there smelling like 5 days’ ride and old horse, she might pass right out again,” he defended airily. Blackwall shook his head with a sigh and let him go.


	4. Chapter 4

After he’d bathed – in a perfectly adequate wooden washtub, with perfectly adequate cold water – he looked across to the little hut where Lean lay sleeping, her fate possibly in the Augur’s hands. He could see a faint blue glow emanating from the windows.

He sighed, and flopped down on the cot in the tent in his clothes, foregoing putting any armor back on yet. He should be able to pass out immediately – he was still plenty exhausted, especially after their few hours at breakneck pace today.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Lean’s face. The new lines criss-crossing the vallaslin on her forehead, even as she slept. The crease between her brows that said, despite being asleep, she was not at peace. The numerous cuts and scrapes all over, some serious. Her tattered clothes.

She might not have stuck her head into a noose, as he’d once attempted, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t trying to escape. From the despair…from life.

He took a shuddering breath. He felt so helpless, so useless. He’d told Dorian they had to remain by her side, but they hadn’t even managed to do that, although he couldn’t blame himself or the mage, considering Lean had slipped out unbeknownst to them. But even now, she was gone, where he couldn’t reach her, comfort her.

Would she even find any comfort in his presence? Perhaps he was wrong about all of this, and contrary to what Dorian had said, he didn’t know anything at all about Lean’s mental state. Maybe they should leave her be to work out her problems in solitude.

But he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that was the best course. The only reason he’d been able to accept that she’d rescued him from his turn on the gallows, the only thing that had brought him out of the deep pit he’d sunk to in those days, was her presence, her belief in him, her belief that things would improve. She and a couple others at Skyhold – Varric and Dorian mainly – had convinced him that people could change, and he had changed, and he ought to look forward instead of running endlessly in a loop of the past, digging a trench deeper and deeper into misery.

So he would not leave her, under any circumstances. Especially when her reality was so…dark.

He thought again about Solas, and his hands clenched.

An even bigger villain than Corypheus, to his mind – Corypheus hadn’t pretended to be a friend. Hadn’t wormed his way into the affections of a woman a thousand times too good for him. Hadn’t betrayed her. At least with him they’d always known where they stood.

When he thought of the times he’d spoken to Solas as a comrade…

If he could just get his hand round that skinny bastard’s neck…

But even if he could, would it do any good? Could he even stand against him now? Likely not, not alone, at least. Solas was a god, right? Or something like it. Whatever he was, his strength, his abilities were far beyond anything Thom could bring to bear. He remembered those Qunari, in the Crossroads. Turned to stone in the midst of movement.

Leanera had expressed the intention, just after the Exalted Council, of searching for Solas, trying to convince him to change his mind. Her companions, even if doubtful, had declared their support for her. But secretly, Thom wished nothing more than for Solas to force a confrontation with the whole of the Inquisition – what was left of it, whatever it was now – and that they would have to destroy him.

Given what he’d said he intended, Thom didn’t think he was being too bloodthirsty by considering this the best outcome. Lower the veil, destroy everyone but the elves? Although he didn’t even see how all elves would be saved – Solas had mentioned more than once that modern elves were a shadow of their former selves. Wouldn’t they be at just as much risk as humans in the coming conflagration?

Either way, that was as good a reason as any other, but it wasn’t the real reason.

Only if they put him down would Lean ever be able to get out from under this. Solas was the cause of her current state, to blame for all her current pain and suffering; physical, mental, and emotional. And how could she truly recover from her devotion to him, if she was continuing to try and redeem him?

The only other option was for Solas to prove, without a doubt, that he cared nothing for Leanera, or for her attempt at ‘redemption’. And Thom would rather die than see her heart get pierced yet again by that foul trickster god.

A scowl on his face, exhaustion finally overtook him.

***

The Augur sighed heavily. “The spirits responded to my call, but they did not wish to investigate her more closely. Even in sleep, they said, her psyche is like a whirlpool of darkness, and they maintained their distance from it. I am sorry, I have not seen them react this way before.” He seemed at a loss.

Cassandra gave him a pained smile. “Thank you for trying, Augur. We must just keep vigil, she will rejoin us eventually, I’m sure of it.”

Blackwall managed to nod, before passing the two of them in the doorway, to sit on the barrel next to the cot Lean slept on. A few minutes later Cassandra followed, having sent the Augur back to Stone Bear Hold, with a promise of updates on the Inquisitor’s condition.

“I am sure it is merely exhaustion, Thom,” Cassandra insisted quietly, coming to stand next to him. “She did put herself through quite a lot. She will be alright in time.”

He nodded again, noncommittally. “I’ll stay for now,” he murmured, not looking at her. “I’ll wake you when I need to sleep.”

“Will you?” she asked drily. He didn’t answer, and she left.

He had slept an hour – he could watch her for several more before he needed sleep again.

After some time he resettled himself on the floor, legs crossed, one arm leaning against the bedside.

She’d never seemed that small to him – he’d met a lot of elves who were quite waifish, but she wasn’t one of them. Even in her mostly relaxed state he could see the outline of the muscles in her arm – muscles that had been pushed to the breaking point. Now, she appeared so fragile, as if with one touch she could crumble, like a castle made of sand. She’d lost weight too - quite a lot since the Council. Her cheekbones and collarbones stood out. No wonder with how little she’d been eating, how hard she’d been working herself.

She also looked…alone. Profoundly so. That little crease still between her brows, the set of her jaw proving she hadn’t yet relinquished the mental agitation that had driven her to this.

He sighed. Still helpless, still useless. He wished he could vanquish her worries, as he had from time to time vanquished her foes. He always felt so proud to stand before her in battle, taking the attention and blows of their enemies so she could work her own magic with her bow. She was an incomparable shot – yet another thing, he knew, that gnawed at her since the Exalted Council. She was still a good shot – and perhaps even better, now, with daggers than she had been, but only from relentless and rigorous training. But she’d told him once she would never achieve the same rapport with a bow that she could before. Not with wood and metal – no matter how precious – where flesh had once been.

His eye strayed to the appendage in question, laying inoffensively atop the blanket. More what one might imagine an abstract art piece of a hand to look like, than a hand itself, but beautiful nonetheless. And amazingly effective, with ‘sinews’ of flexible bands of volcanic aurum, and ‘bones’ of magic-treated Heartwood.

He looked at her other hand, the one nearest him. The dusting of freckles across the back, marred by scrapes and bruises. He stared at it for a moment. Would it perhaps help anything for him to hold it – ground her a bit, show her by touch that someone was waiting for her, watching out for her?

Probably couldn’t hurt. He gingerly took her hand in his larger one. Mindful of his callouses – but she had ones of her own, of course. That one on the inside of her thumb, from where she held her dagger. And then on the inside of her first two fingers, where she drew her bow string.

He put his forehead on his arm, and settled in to wait until, hopefully, she awoke.

***

_Broken glass. That was what everything felt like – the air, the water, the…wait, what water?_

_She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. That beast from the Fade – the one Stroud had given his life to defend them against – it was crushing her. She would never be free of it, this demon-constructed mass of fear and despair._

_Half the time, when she inhaled, she was convinced she was drowning, so painful was it; but if that were the case, why couldn’t it just be done with? Why must she be trapped here in this lightless abyss, suffocating slowly. Please, Mythal, let it be over—_

_But there was no Mythal, was there? Not anymore. Whatever she thought she’d seen after Morrigan drank from the Well of Sorrows…_

_It was so long ago. Years, centuries. Eons had passed since she’d been alive._

**_He_ ** _was there, then. Disapproving, angry. And yet…he had not stepped forward at the Well. If he had, likely she would have taken his side. She herself had no desire to drink from the well; untold power and knowledge? Sounded like exactly what she wanted no part of._

_Her memory snapped back to him like a stretched bow string. The last time she’d seen him…she’d been so certain, just after it happened, that he was helping, trying to keep the Mark from killing her. But was he, really? Or was he just taking the Anchor for himself?_

_If she hadn’t already been on the ground, she would have doubled over with pain at the thought. Surely not. Surely, what they’d shared, the love between them warranted more than a cold, objective theft like that._

_Fen’Harel…_

_Who could she pray to, now? Now that she knew they were all dead? Or if not dead, cast to the four winds, banished, and not even real in the first place, not the way she’d thought._

_Suddenly the monster crushing the life out of her seemed to reconsider. A slight lessening of pressure. A bit of gray, faint light she could catch out of the corner of her eye. She clawed her way toward it – if she wasn’t meant to die, she had to get out._

_The cold shards of pain that lanced her with every movement didn’t lessen, but a dim warmth suffused her. She couldn’t get up, couldn’t reach the light, not quite. Couldn’t get close enough to be touched by it. But it was there, and it convinced her that her darkest moment might be over._

_“Amelan,” she whispered, not really knowing why she said it, but the word felt right. Protector, defender…_

_She reached out again._

***

Thom awoke with a gasp as Leanera’s fingers fluttered underneath his. His eyes flew to her face, but she wasn’t awake, not quite. “ _Amelan_ ,” she murmured. What did it mean?

It didn’t matter; mattered even less when her hand actually gripped his.

“Lean?” he whispered hopefully, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.

Her only response was a heavy sigh…it didn’t sound like one of disappointment, but how could he know?

Incomprehensibly, when he tried to pull away, to summon Cassandra, or the Healer, her hand tightened, and the crease in her brow reappeared. What could he do, then, but remain?

Ignoring the near-painful thumping in his chest, he called out to Cassandra when he caught a glimpse of her traversing the walkways between the trees.

“I think she’s beginning to come out of it, but very slowly,” he whispered, glancing back at the sleeping Inquisitor.

“What did you do? She looks so much more peaceful now.” Cassandra regarded the relaxed, freckled face.

“I did nothing, merely sat here and…and held her hand.” He prayed to the Maker his cheeks weren’t red.

Cassandra made a contemplative noise. “I am glad she is making progress. I will come back to check on her in a few hours. I see no reason you cannot sleep as you sit there, Thom,” she added. “She does not seem to need constant vigilance.”

He nodded wearily, not wanting to tell her he’d already fallen asleep once, by accident. But she was right; Lean didn’t need surveillance. Just comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit of headcanon to explain the names used for Blackwall.   
> Cassandra began calling him Rainier, as an insult, once his true identity was known. Eventually she relented enough to call him Thom, and now it's no longer an insult.   
> Leanera calls him Blackwall, as the title, usually, as well as her pet names (of which a new one has just been introduced). She never really called him Thom because in the beginning it seemed to upset him, and she was fine continuing to call him Blackwall, so it just stuck. But that may change in upcoming chapters ;)


	5. Chapter 5

He remained by her bedside for an entire day, with only very brief breaks. The next evening, she seemed very slightly more alert, responding with soft sounds to his questions, his entreaties for her to come back to him. It wasn’t much, but he would take it.

In the night, she awoke.

A single candle burned on a table nearby. Thom was beginning to fall asleep; he’d had quite a bit of that over the past 24 hours, not having much else to do, but was just feeling caught up after the several days of sleep deprivation and hard rides.

But his focus immediately centered when she took a deep breath, and to his shock her eyes fluttered open.

She looked directly at him. Blinked tiredly.

And smiled very slightly.

“ _Ma Amelan_ ,” she said, her hand tightening on his. “I should have known it was you.”

“Lean!” he breathed, afraid to speak up, lest he shatter this dream, and awaken next to her still form again. Tears burned hot against the back of his eyes. “Thank the Maker,” he uttered inadvertently.

She flinched, and he began to apologize, knowing how she’d always hated the way they’d pinned chantry lore on her – calling her the Herald. But she shook her head slightly.

“No, it’s alright, I just— _mythal’enaste_ , I’ve a massive headache!”

He breathed a laugh, almost crying with relief, for her to say something so normal, so…grounded.

“I’ll get you something, just…just wait a moment,” he promised, getting up. He squeezed her hand once more before he left.

He shook the healer awake. “I need elfroot, quickly!”

“What’s happened! Has there been an accident—” the elf mage mumbled as he was roused from a deep sleep.

“No, idiot, the Inquisitor’s awake! And she’s got a headache, why didn’t we anticipate such a thing? You should have left some potions in her room—”

“There are potions in her room, _ser_ ,” the Healer said flatly, staring at him.

“Oh…I…”

“They’re in the cabinet just inside the door – I told the Lady Pentaghast yesterday of the dose,” he added, relenting, “but I don’t think you heard. Give her 3 drops under the tongue, every 3 or 4 hours for the first day—” he broke off on a yawn. “After that you can brew it into a tea with some peppermint and she can have that instead.”

Thom gave a short nod. “Thanks. Um…sorry for waking you.”

“I should check on her anyway,” the elf said, pulling on a robe and his shoes. “I’m glad to hear she’s come to finally.”

Half an hour later, Lean had been greeted by Cassandra – hugged, even – and prodded until she made a rude remark to the healer and demanded he vacate her immediate vicinity.

But even that small amount of activity had exhausted her once more, and she was heavy-lidded as Thom knelt to bid her farewell, finally to return to his own tent a platform away.

But her tired eyes pleaded with him, and she would not relinquish her grip on his hand.

“I…I am afraid, my warrior,” she whispered, an echo of her past anxiety flickering through her eyes. “I don’t like to say so, but…” her eyes began to flutter shut, and she struggled to keep them open. “Don’t…leave…”

“Of course, whatever you need, you have but to ask,” he murmured, kneeling next to the bed once more. If it helped her, he would gladly prop himself in the most uncomfortable position known to man in order to remain by her side.

She scooted weakly to the other side of the little bed.

He stared, almost afraid, himself. He understood why she was asking – she just wanted more physical reassurance, someone to hold onto as she slept, to keep her from falling away again.

But did she understand just what she was asking…of him?

Of course she didn’t. _And she needn’t_ , he reminded himself harshly. It was none of her concern; his failings were his own.

Gingerly, he slipped into the bed next to her. It creaked; there was barely room for both of them. But once she tucked herself against him, it mattered little. He slid one arm beneath her head; she sighed, long and deep. And then she was asleep. No crease between her brow; her face was supremely relaxed.

Thom could not find slumber so easily.

Though they were in a small bed together, their position wasn’t suggestive, so at least he didn’t have to feel he was behaving badly towards her. But guilt still nagged him. He should not have agreed to this, should have fetched Cassandra, should have done anything rather than given in to his own ill-fated and unwanted yearning to have Lean by his side.

He could only thank the Maker that he’d successfully kept his ridiculous notions to himself. It was almost easier for him when Solas had been around. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only two or three years…

Funny to think of it as being easier when he’d had to watch the looks they threw at each other, occasionally caught sight or sound of them indulging their love for one another with soft touches or kisses during missions.

The day before he’d left to seek the gallows, in fact, he’d passed by the rotunda, where Solas kept all his old books and scrolls, and painted those fancy frescoes on the wall.

She was sitting in the elf’s lap, her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. He was telling her a story about the Fade, or something equally interesting.

That hadn’t been what sent Thom away; he’d been contemplating it for some time, but felt guilty leaving her when he’d pledged to support and protect her. But that image had seared itself onto his brain – she was better off without him there; he should just leave her to the mage, let her be happy without him lurking around. She didn’t need him.

No one did, he was convinced at the time, and so he’d left; a stupid, selfish move, he now recognized, although he at least need never regret saving Mornay. Thank the Maker Lean hadn’t put up with his bullshit, and had dragged him out of that dungeon despite his protests.

He turned his head to look down at her. Her new arm resting on her side, wood gleaming warmly in the candlelight, volcanic aurum taking on a golden hue. Hair a mess – she’d demanded a bath the next time she woke up – but her scrapes were healing just a bit.

She had no idea how important she was to him. To so many, still, of course. But she’d done so much for him, and he didn’t think she even realized it. She’d given him purpose. Brought him joy. Helped him make up, in some small part, for the heinous deeds of his past, easing his burden of guilt.

He was proud to know her.

Finally, as his eyes began to close and his vigilance to wane, a moment of happiness in the awareness of her next to him crept into his heart. _Shouldn’t think of it_ , his tired conscience told him. But he was already asleep.

***

Early the next morning, Cassandra’s shadow loomed in the doorway of the hut.

Thom blinked into the sun streaming through the open door. One moment of unadulterated bliss rushed through him as he remembered his position, his companion, and the events of the night before. But then he recognized the visitor.

“It’s…not what it looks like, Cassandra – she just needed—”

“It is alright, Thom, it does not look like anything,” Cassandra chuckled, cutting off his urgent whisper, keeping her own voice low. “Or rather, it looks like our Inquisitor is sleeping peacefully, which is good.” She paused. “I do not believe you would risk your life so needlessly as to do this without her permission.”

“You’ve got that right,” he mumbled. “She would likely kill me even in her current exhausted state, not to mention what _you_ would do.”

“Exactly. You see, I knew you were a smart man.”

“Smart enough for that, at least.”

“I am going down to the main camp to check in with Harding. I will let Dorian know of the Inquisitor’s progress.”

“Wait,” Thom called softly as she turned to leave. “She wanted a bath, you’ll have to help her, she’s not strong enough – can you wait until she wakes?”

Cassandra regarded Leanera for another moment, then gave a little nod, almost to herself, before departing.

Thom heaved a sigh of relief that he hadn’t gotten in more trouble.

But his relief was short-lived. He had to get up before Lean woke – he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself for every second that he lay there, delaying the inevitable. He shouldn’t allow himself to feel happy about this – it meant nothing, and he was doing her a disservice with every sliver of his thought that savored it. But he couldn’t stop himself.

But perhaps he was thinking about it the wrong way. He _had_ said that he would be there when she needed him, for anything. And he did want nothing more than for her to get through this and be happy once more. So if he was helping her do that – and in such an innocent manner – then should he _not_ be glad? To be of use to someone you care about, have them lean on you in their time of trouble, was more than most people could boast.

This made him feel a little better, and he took a deep breath before sidling out of the bed, replacing his arm with the pillow.

Before he could even get out the door, she called out.

“ _Vhenan_!”

He stopped, but he couldn’t turn around. The anguish in her voice – he knew that word wasn’t for him. An answering pain lanced through his heart, showed in his face.

“ _Var lath vir suledin_ ,” she cried, and then he did go to her. She was asleep, still – just a nightmare, but one that cut him in two. He took her hand, knowing it wasn’t his that she wanted, but unable to do anything else.

He put his other hand to her face. “Leanera! Lean, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open, and he nearly closed his own in anticipation of the crushing disappointment that would at any moment cross her face.

But as her breaths slowed, and her eyes focused, the disappointment never came. She searched his visage, as if confused, curious, contemplative. What was she looking for?

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, _amelan_. Even in dreams you protect me.”

He could feel the heat rising in his face. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. “I…are you alright?”

She nodded, but looked away. “I’m fine. Could you…find Cassandra for me?”

“Of course.”

He did as she asked, and left Cassandra with her while he went down to bathe in the river, where the water was cold enough to shock some sense into him.


	6. Chapter 6

She was exhausted after her bath, but unutterably happy to be clean again, her hair free of tangles – and likely twigs and leaves – and clad in fresh clothes. She lay propped up in the bed, pillows behind her; who knew where they’d procured so many pillows in the Frostback basin.

Cassandra had also applied some balm that Dagna had formulated for where her new appendage attached to her upper arm; supposedly over time the heartwood would mesh with her own skin and bone, and become more and more natural to use. She held her hand up before her, turning it this way and that, as she often had when she’d first had ‘the upgrade installed’, as Dagna affectionately referred to it.

It was pretty, no doubt about that. The warm glow of the heartwood and the shimmering golden-rose of volcanic aurum, curved and rounded shapes pleasing to the eye. But would she ever stop feeling that twinge of regret, of loss when she looked at it?

It wasn’t only her missing appendage it reminded her of. It was the circumstances surrounding its…removal.

But she shook her head. She refused to dwell on that – she’d done enough wallowing in the past weeks, had made an ass of herself, even put her friends in danger.

She could still be sad. She could still hurt. But she could also function while doing so, and she fully intended to. She knew it wasn’t that easy, but perhaps if she kept reminding herself, it would become easier.

Her muscles, unfortunately, were not quite as eager to bounce back. She had never felt so sore and exhausted in her entire life. The Healer said it would be days before she could move freely; she hoped to prove him wrong, but she couldn’t imagine heading out on a ride, or jumping into combat, any time soon.

She heard Blackwall’s voice outside as he came off the lift from the forest floor.

She’d definitely put _him_ in danger, and still he was so…profoundly kind, so caring. She’d always counted him a good friend; after his misguided attempt to seek the hangman’s noose, their bond had only grown. She’d never lost faith in him – she knew as soon as she met him that he was a good man, and that opinion had never changed. He’d made mistakes, but hadn’t they all? She herself had done some things, at the behest of her clan but by her own hand, that she wasn’t proud of.

She hoped she hadn’t made him uncomfortable asking him to sleep next to her. But if he could know the stark difference between her dreams with and without him there…

It was strange, really, for something to affect her that much when she wasn’t even awake. But it did, there was no doubt. She could sense him there, warm and solid, staunch and faithful. And that presence calmed her right down to her bones.

It was almost as if…a raging whirlwind were always threatening to carry her away. Awake _or_ asleep, it waited just nearby, thundering, wailing, ready to claim her. It pulled at her, the wind sucking her away from her sanity. But if she just held his hand…her feet were on the ground again. She could feel the pull, but she could resist it.

She shook her head and sighed. No matter what, she had to make sure she wasn’t putting him in an awkward position. She knew he understood why she needed him, but if he didn’t like it, she wouldn’t ask it of him again. It wouldn’t be fair.

He knocked against the door frame, his other hand behind his back, and she beckoned him in.

“You look much revived,” he said with a bit of a smile.

“I _smell_ much revived, too,” she replied, her faint smirk drawing a grin from him.

“I swear I never caught a whiff,” he insisted, chuckling. It was good to see him laugh – he’d been so worried over her lately. Not that she had noticed any of that at the time, but now she remembered, and felt another wave of regret.

“Listen, I—”

“My lady, if you—”

They both spoke at once, and then trailed off into nervous smiles.

He gestured for her to continue, and came forward to sit on the barrel next to the bed; still keeping one hand out of her view. What was he hiding? No matter.

“I…apologize, if I asked too much of you,” she said quietly, her smile fading, staring at the blanket that she traced shapes on with her right hand. “I appreciate that you agreed, but you needn’t do it again if you…if it’s too…”

“I told you I would do anything you needed, and that was a small enough favor.”

She looked up at him, and had to quell an urge to put a hand to his face – so serious, so stoic. Her warrior. He was such a good soul.

“It was in no way small to me,” she argued. “But…if it does not trouble you, perhaps you could…I mean just for the next few days, until I—”

“It does not trouble me in the slightest,” he insisted. “I am…honored that my presence can help you in some way.”

She beamed at him, then. “It does, it truly does, you’ve no idea. Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t you show me what’s in your hand?”

***

The absolute flood of relief and joy he felt at seeing her genuinely smile again rendered him senseless for a moment; the contrast to her mien of the past few weeks was astounding.

He was all too happy to change the subject – not only was the previous one awkward for them both, but he was continually afraid of saying something that would reveal his true feelings, and endanger their friendship. That was the last thing he wanted; if things could go on as they were now, that would be more than he could have ever hoped for, and he was helping her in the process. A perfectly good state of affairs.

With a little flourish, he withdrew the book he was holding. The latest installment of Hard in Hightown.

She gave a choked squeal and would have lunged for the book if she were less weak; as it was he just handed it to her.

“How did you get this??”

“Apparently Varric sends them personally to Harding as a running joke every time one is published. There’s likely one back at Skyhold for you I should think.”

“A priceless gift, my warrior, I cannot wait to read it three times straight!”

“Well, I don’t suppose you’ll have too much else to do for the next day or two until you’re up and about, so…”

“True,” she admitted ruefully.

“I um…I brought back a couple other books too, ones that were left in the cabin there, if you get tired of re-reading this one.”

“Oh? Which ones?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just a umm…a book of poetry, and some novel or other. Whatever was there, I just grabbed what I could find.”

She stared at him for a moment, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the book in her hand. Thank the Maker – he didn’t want her guessing he was looking forward to reading some swashbuckling nonsense while she slept.

While Leanera settled in with her book, Cassandra sent Thom to Stonebear Hold to give the Augur news of the Inquisitor’s condition.

 

“I am glad to hear it,” the Augur replied with a nod. “We are preparing for a festival or I would come greet her.” He looked at Thom, a considering light in his eyes. “Perhaps if she is well enough, you could bring her. She is a member of the clan, still, after all. The festival will be in four days’ time, when the Moon of Sealg is brightest.”

“The...Moon of—never mind,” Thom said hastily, holding up his hand to forestall a history lesson he wasn’t really prepared for. “I’m sure she’ll want to be here, if she’s able.”

The Augur’s barrel chest rumbled with laughter. “You ask her – I’ll wager she knows the proper names of the moons.”

“I’ll do that,” Thom replied, and with a nod, took his leave.

He paid a visit to Thane Sun-hair, who also mentioned the festival, and then headed back to the tree-camp.

***

Leanera was only two chapters into the latest installment of Hard in Hightown when her eyelids grew heavy.

At first, she struggled to refocus on the page. Couldn’t sleep – not without him here. She didn’t want to feel that weight on her chest again, that crushing darkness…

But…she couldn’t expect him to lay next to her for three quarters of the day, while she recovered. She was just napping, and Cassandra was near, plus Dorian would arrive soon, so Thom had told her. Surely she could just…doze off…without…

 

_Why do you do this to me, she thought, couldn’t say; couldn’t breathe. Again._

— _I do not mean to_ —

_His voice…the void inside her swelled. It would consume her._

— _Can’t you just leave me be_ —

_Even her thought was a sob, the despair she’d worked so hard to contain surging forth, overwhelming._

— _I am trying, vhenan_ —

— _Why are you here, but not here! If you can haunt me just come back!_ —

— _You know I cannot do that_ —

— _You can. But you won’t_ —

— _I told you, I walk the path of—_

— _I know what path you walk. It is one that leads away from me. It always did_ —

_Suddenly the void inside her heart filled – but with something worse than emptiness._

_Fear gripped her, cold, icy; she still couldn’t scream. Couldn’t speak._

_It’s just a dream, she tried to tell herself. I’m in the—_

_She was in the Fade. She tried to remember what Cassandra had told her about the Augur’s visit – the spirits wouldn’t approach her…tried to concentrate, through the terror that crawled across her skin…_

_Was the beast of the Fear Demon missing only because…because the Demon himself, approached?_

— _No, I’m not a mage, I’m not a mage—_

— _Do you think that will help you, you worthless elf?_ —

***

Dorian was just coming up the lift as Cassandra rushed into the hut where Leanera slept. He hurried in behind her, and his brow lowered when he saw Leanera’s face.

He took her hand, shook her gently, to no avail; she shivered violently, her face pale and cold.

“This is not like it was before, Dorian.” Cassandra’s voice held an urgency Dorian shared.

“I thought not. Cassandra, don’t hit me for this, alright?”

“For what—”

But she broke off as tiny flickers of lightning danced across Dorian’s fingers.

“Dorian, no, she’s not strong en—”

A faint crackle hissed through the air as Dorian applied his fingers to the Inquisitor’s hand. It jerked a little, but she didn’t awaken.

He glanced over his shoulder at Cassandra, who remained silent, lips pursed into a thin line.

The bright, intermittent flash around his fingers grew more pronounced. This time he put his hands over her shoulders. Touched her, briefly.

She sucked in a long breath, and her eyes flew open.

Dorian and Cassandra sagged with relief, but Leanera’s breathing didn’t calm; she was gulping down air, chest expanding over and over, reaching out to claw at Dorian as he sat at the edge of the bed.

He grabbed her hand, spoke her name, and Cassandra moved forward to stand behind him, in Leanera’s field of vision.

Finally, after what seemed an age, she blinked, and looked around.

“ _Fenedhis_!” she spat, and relaxed against the cushions, her eyes closed. “That was….not good.”

“Well I’d call that an understatement,” Dorian replied cheerfully, but with worry underpinning his words. “And here I thought you were about to become much lower maintenance!”

Cassandra grunted. Leanera opened one eye.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said drily, still a little out of breath. “But trust me, running into the Fear Demon when I doze off is not at the top of my list of favorite activities.”

“So…it was more than a nightmare?” Cassandra asked. “I did not think someone without magic need fear demons in the fade…”

Leanera shook her head. “I did too, but S-solas told me once that the Anchor may have…affected me somehow.” She cleared her throat, as if his erasing his name from her mouth could so easily erase him from her thoughts.

“I thought you said Blackwall helped her with the nightmares,” Dorian accused. “Well where is he now?”

“I did not think it necessary for him to remain next to her for the entirety of the day!” Cassandra argued, but then her shoulders rounded a bit. “I sent him to apprise the Augur of Leanera’s progress. Perhaps I should not have done that.”

“It’s alright,” Lean broke in. “I fell asleep accidentally, I should have called for you, but I…I thought I would be alright, just napping…”

“Who knows if I could help, in any case,” Cassandra said with uncharacteristic bleakness.

“Cassandra, you are just as good a friend to me as Blackwall,” Leanera hastened to reassure her. “I’m sure if you—”

“No,” she stated flatly. “I do not want a repeat of this incident – perhaps my presence would serve as well, perhaps not, but when he is here you sleep soundly, and I do not want to jeopardize that.” She stood up a little straighter. “I’m sure he will return shortly, and I’ve no doubt he will agree to remain close by for the time being.”

Leanera sighed, but let it go. While she didn’t want Cassandra to feel that Leanera placed more trust in Blackwall – she didn’t, not exactly – she, too, wished to avoid a repeat of what had just happened.

But how long until she could just…sleep, like a normal person? When would this shadow leave her?


	7. Chapter 7

It took every ounce of his willpower not to show her more affection than was required in the situation – hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead. He swallowed, and mentally castigated himself. How could he call himself a friend when he couldn’t even respond to her troubles as a friend must?

_Pat her hand, that’s all that’s allowed._

“I’m…sorry I wasn’t here, I shouldn’t have left, it was—”

“No! No, I knew you would say that, but it shouldn’t have been…” she trailed off on a sigh. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought…it might be important for you to know. In case…in case it happens again.”

“Lean, if I have to rip into the Fade myself I _swear_ I will not allow—”

He broke off with a startled noise when she threw her arms around his neck.

He swiftly returned the embrace, knowing she couldn’t hold herself like that for long in her weakened state. Squeezed his eyes shut, the constant argument with himself echoing in his head.

Her voice was muffled in his shirt. “This is why I need you,” she mumbled. “I can…sense that conviction, even when I’m dreaming! It’s so stupid, impossible, even, but I…I just…”

His arms tightened, and she relaxed against him a bit, her fingers curling slightly into his shirt now.

If she could sense that, how could she not sense how every fiber of his being practically vibrated with love for her?

Don’t think it! Hide it from yourself so as to hide it from her!

“It’s alright Lean. I’m not going anywhere again, I promise. You’ll get so tired of me you’ll want a crack at a Demon yourself just to get rid of me.” He tried to infuse his words with humor he didn’t feel, and was at least a little successful.

She chuckled. “Very funny.” He thought she would pull back then, but she just sat there in silence, her head resting on his shoulder.

“It’s so restful with you here,” she whispered finally, serious again.

His heart constricted painfully. But even so, he smiled a little. Her reliance on him – she, who so rarely relied on anyone, who was so strong – filled him with purpose. She was good at that.

*******

Lean was sure she should let go of him – he could hardly fail to feel awkward, his Inquisitor hanging on him like a limpet. But…it was so comfortable; she could breathe when he was near. Could think. She’d been doing so well this morning, concentrating on her book, but that was different. Distracting herself, merely.

He didn’t _seem_ disturbed by her embrace, so at least for a moment, she remained.

He was such a good friend; she hadn’t realized just how dear he was to her until this whole stupid incident. Perhaps that was some good that had come of it?

And with Dorian leaving soon to return to Tevinter…she would need to keep her friends even closer. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t see him again, but it would likely be months, at least, before their paths crossed once more. He had his own issues to attend to, Maeveris needed his assistance. She didn’t begrudge him going, but she would certainly miss him.

She didn’t want to dwell on it now.

Finally she heaved a sigh and let him go. He released her immediately – almost too quickly – and she hoped she wasn’t misjudging his comfort or lack thereof…

“In other news, the Hold is throwing some sort of party…festival…thing,” he said as she settled back against the pillows.

“Oh!” Of course, it was just the right time of year! “The festival of the Mountain Father! Do you think—”

“Yes, he’s already asked if you will be well enough. In four days’ time.”

“Ugh, I’ve lost so much time, I can’t believe the moon will already be full by then…”

“You…know more about Avvar lore than I would have guessed, my lady,” he said with surprise.

“I studied quite a lot of it after we left here, it’s fascinating!”

He smiled at her, a strange look on his face. “I must confess, I know little of it.”

“Well, Sigrid helped me. She happened to be visiting Skyhold – once while you were on one of your reparation missions,” she explained with a grin. That’s what she called his travels to find members of his former company, apologize to them, help them if they needed it.

“Ah.”

“Did you know that I also helped Professor Kenric translate a bit of Ameridan’s diary?” she said, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Well you are one of the most intelligent people I know,” he said matter-of-factly, and a faint blush rose to her cheeks. The fact that he so easily said “people” instead of “elves” or “women” gratified her immensely.

“In any case, I had to learn, didn’t I – I’m a member of their clan, I can’t very well be ignorant of their customs!”

“Your conscientiousness does you credit, my lady.”

“I suppose it comes from being Dalish.” She tilted her head. “Then again, that’s not true – my clan didn’t give two figs about anything besides their precious Elvhen gods.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about that. To hell with all of them.

“Anyway, yes I absolutely intend to go, maybe I’ll even be able to participate in some of the festivities…I’m so excited!”

“I hope this doesn’t…dull your enthusiasm,” Thom replied, suddenly looking anxious, “but I’ll likely have to accompany you. Or…I could have Cassandra—”

“Of course you’re going with me,” she scoffed. “Nothing against Cassandra, but I…don’t think she’d enjoy it. She’s a little umm…”

“Dignified?” he supplied.

“Yes! Quite!”

“I heard that,” came Cassandra’s voice from the doorway. “And I agree, Thom is much better suited to Avvar revelry.” She gave a little shudder.

“But I came to tell you that we’ve had word from Skyhold.”

Leanera’s face shifted from amusement to trepidation in half a second. “W-what news?” Mythal’enaste, let it not be something about—

“Some blood mage has…taunted the Seekers, by name. They must know the rest of them are all new recruits; in fact I am the only true Seeker left, still.”

“What do you mean, taunted?”

“They are threatening a village in Ferelden, calling on the name of the Inquisition, casting our involvement into question, as if the Inquisition would ever support a blood mage, but naturally it has started rumors.”

“So you’re leaving?”

Cassandra blinked. “I…”

“You must! You can’t let this stand, but be sure you take a full retinue of Cullen’s Templars with you and not just your raw recruits!”

“If…if you’re sure that you can spare me, Inquisitor. You have barely recovered, I do not wish to—”

“I shouldn’t have dragged you out here in the first place. Well, technically Dorian asked you to come, for which I am grateful, but the point is, if I’d behaved myself you could have addressed this already. Because of me this has been able to go on for at least a week or two longer than it should have.”

Cassandra sighed. “I am glad you are well enough to be so insistent, Leanera. However, I am asking Bull to come when he returns from his mission with the Chargers – so once you’re well enough to come back to Skyhold Blackwall alone needn’t hold off everyone you encounter on the way back.”

Leanera nodded, and held out her hand. Blackwall stood, and walked outside, leaving the two women to their farewells.

Cassandra came forward and took the offered hand. “Are you…absolutely sure? That you will be alright? I still have a duty to see you safe and well, as my Inquisitor, and as my friend.”

Leanera smiled, squeezed Cassandra’s fingers. “I am in good hands, and already recovering well. I’ll be fine, I promise. But thank you. I look forward to hearing word of your success.”

Cassandra nodded, and turned to leave. “Leanera…”

The elf raised an eyebrow.

But whatever she’d been about to say, she thought better of it. “Never mind. I will see you soon.”

*******

Thom was making use of some training dummies set up on another platform, going through the motions with his crystalline sword, when he heard Cassandra call his name.

“Good luck with the blood mage, Seeker,” he said with a sort of salute in her direction.

“Yes, thank you, but I want to talk to you about something else.”

Immediately he knew what it was about, and he hastened to reassure her.

“Believe me, Cassandra, I would never under any circumstances—”

“Thom. Hush.”

He stared. Opened his mouth, closed it again at the look on her face.

“I am no expert,” she said quietly, stepping a little closer. “And I do not wish to offer advice where none is asked for. But…”

His brows drew together. If not warning him to mind his manners around the Inquisitor, then what…

“You are a good man, Thom Rainier,” she said, shocking him so completely his mouth nearly fell open. “And it would be good for her if one day she realizes that.”

“I…I don’t…” he couldn’t even string a sentence together. Cassandra thought…what?

“I cannot promise that she will; she has been….irrevocably injured, as you well know. But if she does…do not be a fool.”

He blinked, looked down, stunned.

When he raised his eyes, Cassandra was gone.

*******

He paced in his own tent. He wished to the Maker Cassandra had kept her mouth shut – he appreciated her trying to help, but she’d done nothing but make things more difficult.

He’d done a decent, if not stellar, job of convincing himself that there would never be anything between him and Lean, and that conviction reinforced his determination to behave as nothing more than a friend to her. It was true, sometimes thoughts did break through. About how much he loved and admired her, how beautiful she was, how strong, how _bright_. But he could stuff them down, or at least channel them into the proper attitudes for a warrior to have towards his Inquisitor, rather than the attitude a man has toward a woman he adores.

And he’d been confident he could keep doing this indefinitely. Even with her sleeping beside him at night. The whims of his imagination could be stifled, because that’s all it was – imagination. Nothing existed between them but friendship, and that’s how it would stay. And he was happy with it. Content, at least.

But now…

 _‘If she does_ ,’ Cassandra had said. ‘ _If she does…_ ’ played through his head.

 _Was_ there an “If”? He had not allowed himself even that much conjecture on the subject.

 _And you can’t allow it now,_ his conscience practically shouted _. Can you imagine how violated she would feel if she thought you lay there at night imagining kissing her?_

But he _didn’t_ do that – he was proud to say he had never permitted a…romantic thought about her to linger in his mind for more than a split second.

He stopped, and took a deep breath. He was a grown man with control over himself and his thoughts. He would not let himself be overwhelmed by impossibilities simply because one person said they might happen. They wouldn’t, and that was that.

He grabbed the books he’d brought from the base camp, and went back to Leanera’s hut.

It was quiet, now, with Cassandra gone; Dorian was down at the base camp again, getting things ready for his own departure, but would be back the next day to say his goodbyes. It seemed he’d had his own message from Maevaris, relayed via Skyhold, and his departure was imminent as well.

Thom hoped that Leanera wouldn’t be too lonely with just him for company…the other soldiers didn’t speak to her much, and he wasn’t exactly a scintillating conversationalist.

At least that Avvar festival was coming up, give her something to look forward to.

He stopped on the threshold to her hut. A strange scene lay before him – two soldiers, rearranging furniture, it appeared; two beds crowding the hut where once there was one; Leanera standing to the side, pale, fingers gripping the back of a chair.

He tossed the books onto a table and went to her.

“What’s going on here, why aren’t you—”

“It’s just while they’re moving things,” she murmured, but gave a sigh of relief when he took her arm and supported some of her weight.

“You ought not be standing, Inquisitor,” he said sternly, and finally she gave a little nod and moved around to sink down into the chair.

He looked back to the soldiers, who were standing back from their handiwork and dusting their hands.

They turned to give a little bow to the Inquisitor, and she gave them a grateful smile before they turned and left.

“So…what is this about?”

“Well…since I’m forcing you to sleep in here with me, I thought…that is, you’re a bit too big to share a little cot with me,” she mumbled, not looking at him, picking at the hem of her shirt.

“You’re hardy forcing me – in fact, it gets a bit chilly in the valley at night, if I had no Inquisitor I’d have to use more blankets.”

She snorted, and finally looked at him, smiling gratefully, and he was pleased his joke had put her at her ease. “Thank you, _amelan_. Now, embarrassed as I am to admit it…I think I should get back into bed.”

She made a faint noise of surprise when he picked her up and deposited her against the cushions, rearranging them with one hand before he fully let go so she could lay back against them.

“You will have to let me walk at some point, you know.”

“At some point, yes.”

“Now, I have yet another request – the poetry.”

“The umm…what?” he asked stupidly, stalling.

“You already told me you brought it, remember? No use denying it now.” Her dimple peeked out, and he swallowed.

“Oh, of course, yes here, have at it,” he answered, recovering, and grabbed the book from the table where he’d left it.

She shook her head when he held it out to her.

“You’re to read it to me,” she explained helpfully. “Hard in Hightown is terribly good but I can’t imagine it will lead to very sweet dreams.”

“I…you want _me_? To _read_ it? To you?” he asked with patent incredulity.

She blinked. “I—”

A flush suffused her skin, and she turned away, brows drawn together. “What a ridiculous thing to ask,” she muttered with a humorless laugh.

“No—no! I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s alright, it was silly of me. Just—hand me my book, please?” She tried to smile politely, reaching her right hand out.

Instead of giving it to her, he sat on the bed, taking her hand in his own.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured sincerely, searching the deep forest of her eyes for a sign she forgave him for his boorishness. “I only meant…I’m a clumsy, stupid oaf.”

“I just…” She sighed and looked down. “I wanted to hear your voice. To…to fall asleep to,” she whispered.

“Maker’s breath, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, forgetting himself enough, for a moment, to hug her.

“It was so horrible, _amelan_ …” now her voice was shaking. She hadn’t really told him the details, before, and he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“It was horrible because…because _he_ was there, and I don’t want him there anymore, Thom! I don’t! I don’t want him in my head, or in my dreams! I want to be left in peace!” Her shoulders shook with sudden, quiet sobs, and he thought he would break into at this stark evidence of her pain.

“You _will_ have peace, Lean, I swear it. I’ll read to you all day for the rest of your life if it drowns him out!” He didn’t really even know what he was saying, but he knew he’d do anything to heal her.

She leaned back, and the sight of her tortured, tear-streaked face nearly did him in. She pulled her hand away from his, and he worried he’d gone too far, but then she laid it against his face.

“So good,” she whispered. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

He sighed, although he wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else, and leaned his forehead against hers.

They sat like that for a minute, eyes closed, night birds singing louder outside as the darkness deepened around them.

*******

Leanera pulled back finally, feeling foolish for breaking down, but knowing he didn’t judge her for it.

To her surprise, he opened the poetry book.

“You really don’t have to—”

But she went silent as a few scraps of paper fell from between the pages. Blackwall picked them up, stared at the words for a moment, then handed it to her.

“I seem to recall we uncovered something about this in the Hinterlands,” he said, as he got up and readied the cabin for sleeping – closed the door, took off his boots, brought the lantern near the door closer to the bed, and hung it on a hook there.

“ _Tell the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, mountain maker, spirit's bride_ ,” she read softly, trying to give it the proper emphasis as the Avvar did when chanting a poem. “Yes, we found the stones inscribed with her story there,” she murmured, looking over the other pages. “This was probably Professor Kenric’s, from when he was here.”

She looked up when she noticed he’d stilled. He was standing – rather awkwardly – next to the other side of the now-double-sized bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I umm…you’re…on that side, but is that alright? Your arm…”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then looked down – she’d forgotten, for a second, that there was anything wrong with her.

She swallowed down any bitterness that rose in her throat; now was not the time to dwell on that.

“It’s fine,” she lied. “It doesn’t bother me to sleep on either side.”

He took her at her word and lowered himself to sit on the straw mattress – the wood gave a creak, but otherwise the arrangement seemed perfectly feasible.

She held out the papers toward him. “I wonder if you can outdo old Gurd Harofsen?” she asked, teasing him to distract herself from her melancholy.

“Was that the Avvar we fought in that cavern? Bloody menace, he was,” Thom grumbled, and Lean grinned.

“That’s the one! But you must admit he had a way with poetry!”

Thom raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? Even _I_ could put that brute to shame!”

Lean gave a flourish, indicating he should have a go.

“Alright, but don’t judge me – I haven’t a magical-ice-lined cave to give me proper acoustics,” he grumbled. Lean continued to smirk as she got under the blanket – Thom reaching over to help her – and scooted toward the center of the bed.

He glanced over the pages, then cleared his throat. Looked sideways at her. She thought she saw the faintest tinge of pink on his face, but surely it was just the dim light?

_Tell the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, mountain maker, spirit's bride:_

_Free, her people, forged in fastness, made in mountains, hardy hide._  


Lean blinked – she hadn’t expected his voice to be quite so melodic—

_Wise in wisdom, calm in counsel, great in gifts her grateful guests,_

_Sacrificed she did to spirits, took their teachings, followed quests._

_Bright her axe, unbreaking crystal, stirred to flame when temper flies,_  


She tilted her head at this line, thinking of the bright, prismatic sword he wielded.

 _Gifted from her leaf-eared lover, laughing lady of the skies._  


At this line his own voice stumbled; he glanced at her, but forged ahead.

_Bested blades of all who tried,_

_Maiden, spurning all requests,_

_Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Dreamer's Eyes._

_Avvar-Mother, of her making._

  
He stopped, staring at the paper, then gave a nervous chuckle. “Rather affecting, these Avvar poems, aren’t they?”

“Dreamer’s Eyes,” she said pensively, looking down, eyes fixed far away. “Keeper used that as an insult to me once. I wonder if she even knew where it was from? I doubt she gave a fig for an Avvar poem…”

She came back to herself abruptly, and looked up to smile at Thom, who was regarding her with concern. “Thank you for reading it to me. Maybe you can do another stanza tomorrow – for now I think some of your…less charged poetry might be in order.”

He nodded with relief, and replaced the pages carefully in the back of his book.

Some dwarven poem about a nug was the second one in the book, and Lean fell asleep to nonsense about nugs, rugs, and hugs.


	8. Chapter 8

Dorian took his leave the following day. They’d had to part ways before, and always came back together, so she wasn’t as upset as she might have been. That first time he left after Corypheus’ defeat had been the worst, but they exchanged letters frequently.

This time he had something even better.

“It’s a sending crystal,” he explained with a self-satisfied smirk. “Took quite a few favors to procure it, but I knew you would— _oof_!”

Dorian ought to have been glad the Inquisitor’s strength was limited just now by her current physical state or she might have knocked him down.

When she let him go, there were tears in her eyes, but a smile on her face. “You’d _better_ give me a sending crystal, I’ll be dying for lack of sass otherwise!”

“I think you mean wit and charm, my dear Inquisitor, but I suppose I’ll take it.”

“In all seriousness, Dorian…thank you,” she said, her sincerity plain.

Dorian sobered as well. “You’re my best friend, Leanera. Something I have in short supply. So hopefully it’ll be easier for us to keep in touch, this time.”

She kissed his cheek. “Be careful, Dorian. And if anything happens – I mean, other than you taking over the Imperium – you know I’ll invade Tevinter myself, if you need me.”

He nodded. “Don’t worry. And take care of yourself – you’ve only one mother bear left, although I suppose a mother Bull will soon be on the way.”

Lean giggled. “I’m telling him you said that.”

He looked away. “Better you didn’t.”

“Dorian—”

“I must be off. If Blackwall does anything stupid, tell me, I’ll figure out how to do blood magic through the crystal.”

“Oh do hush,” she mumbled, shoving him out the door. “I’m the one that asked him to—and it’s not—” she stuttered.

“I know, I know. More’s the pity.” He winked, and hopped onto the lift, quickly making his getaway before she could respond.

Ridiculous man.

She would miss him terribly.

*******

Each night Thom read another of the stanzas to her, but they always followed with something else before she fell asleep.

She’d taken to sleeping facing away from him – he knew now it was because of her arm, but didn’t bring it up. If he mentioned it, it would upset her, and he was the last person to tell her it shouldn’t. He merely put one arm under her pillow, and his other hand on her shoulder, and she seemed satisfied with that. No more nightmares were had – at least none that he’d noticed.

Her health improved as well, and the day of the festival she was able to walk around without any issue, although she still tired somewhat easily.

She began dressing on her own, but Harding showed up unexpectedly and provided assistance. The Inquisition’s head scout had dropped in to check on the Inquisitor, now that most of her entourage had departed.

“That’s very sweet of you, Lace, but as you can see I’m nearly back to normal.”

“Uh-huh,” Harding replied noncommittally as Leanera leaned on her shoulder while stepping into her pants. “Actually, you should take your damaged gear to the Hold and ask them to repair it, their armorer is something else. Made me this,” she added, holding out her arm where a magnificently tooled bracer fit like a second skin.

“That’s gorgeous!”

“Yep, and works like a charm. If you had time I’d say they could make you a whole new set of gear, but that would probably take a couple weeks, and I doubt you’ll be here that long.”

“Yes, and the set I nearly ruined was made for me by my kin, so I’d rather not give it up.”

Lace nodded. “I’m sure they can fix it, though, no problem.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to take it with me.”

“I’ll see you there – I’m just going to stop by and pay my respects to Thane Sun-Hair.”

“You mean you’re not staying all night?” Lean teased.

The dwarf rolled her eyes. “It’s bad enough hanging out with you and your giant—” she coughed, and then continued, “you and Thom; being in the Hold is like walking around with Titans.”

“Good point.”

Harding also provided the invaluable service of braiding Lean’s hair. She’d not yet mastered braiding it herself with her new hand, and while at Skyhold she always had someone to do it for her, since Cassandra had left she’d been leaving it down. She’d made a couple of attempts to practice but it ended up a mess, and her shoulder still tired easily.

When she was done, she helped Lean up from her spot in the floor and looked at her hair critically. “I may have gotten carried away,” she said, contemplating. “It would look better if you were in full armor, but oh well.”

Lean’s eyes widened. “Umm…alright…”

“There has to be a mirror around here somewhere, else how is Thom shaving?”

“Very carefully?” Lean suggested, smirking.

“Hold on!”

Harding darted out the door, and came back a few minutes later with a weathered hand-held mirror.

Lean took it, and gaped at her reflection. Harding had given her a braid, yes, but she was right – it was a lot more fierce than the one she usually sported. A high, loose fishtail braid that started at her crown and then curved over her shoulder.

“Wow…”

“Do you not like it? I can start over—”

“No it’s…amazing! I wish I could do it myself, I don’t even know how to braid like this…” She put the mirror down and faced her short friend. “Thank you, Lace.”

“Sure thing, boss. You need anything else? I want to get up there and gone before it gets dark, or else they’ll somehow wrangle me into some crazy Avvar drinking ritual or something.”

Lean snorted. “Gods forbid. No, I’m fine, see you later.”

Harding left, and Lean sat down in the one chair in the room, a little more weary than she wanted to admit. But she did feel good dressed in her normal clothes rather than the loose pajama type things she’d been sporting since she’d been there. Cassandra had brought her second best set of leathers – pants, boots, and harness, with a dark green shirt underneath. She might not be as intimidating as she could be in actual armor, as Lace had mentioned, but with her hair and her proper clothes she felt a little closer to herself than she had in a week.

She took a deep breath. Perhaps she could make it down the lift by herself…her mother Bear wouldn’t like that much. That encouraged her even more. She grabbed her torn and damaged leather armor from the little chest at the end of the bed, and with a wicked grin she walked purposefully – albeit a trifle slowly – to the contraption. One of the few soldiers at the camp hurried over to run the crank and lower her down; she was glad she didn’t have to do that part alone, or she might have had serious difficulty.

She was halfway down when she heard Thom’s voice questioning the soldier; the lift stopped, and she rolled her eyes.

“At least let me get to the ground first,” she called up to the platform, and after a moment the lift creaked into motion again. A minute later and she stepped out onto the forest floor. She assumed Thom would crank it back up in a hurry so he could join her, but the lift just sat in the dirt. She craned her head but couldn’t see anyone on the platform.

“Lean, you’re going to—”

She whirled around, a hand to her chest; he’d come down the ramp instead, surprising the stuffing out of her. She was less recovered than she thought if she could have missed him coming up behind her like that!

But when she turned, he stopped, his mouth open for a second before he snapped it closed.

He swallowed. “Your uhh….your hair looks nice,” he mumbled.

Lean grinned, feeling stupidly gratified at his reaction. “Isn’t it – as Bull would say – badass?”

Thom nodded. “It is indeed. Now,” he added, recovering. “What are you already doing down here?”

They proceeded to argue for a solid quarter hour over her taking her own horse, as he saddled his own. She insisted that she would appear weak to the Avvar if she showed up across Blackwall’s pommel like some damn spoils of war.

He blushed hotly – which she found odd but terribly amusing – and finally conceded, reluctantly saddling a horse for her from the limited selection at the camp.

But they’d barely gone a hundred yards when she bade him stop.

He turned in the saddle and regarded her downcast expression with dismay. “What’s the matter?”

“I…I think I’ll have to be spoils of war,” she mumbled, not looking at him.

He was silent for a moment. “Are you that upset about losing the argument?” he asked finally.

“No!” she refuted immediately, raising her eyes to his. But then she looked away. “Maybe a little. But mostly I’m upset that I…I should be _well_ by now, this is ridiculous!” She made a disgusted noise reminiscent of Cassandra as they turned their horses back the way they’d come.

“No, you shouldn’t. You should be well when you _are_ well, and not before,” he insisted sternly.

She glanced at him innocently. “Yes, mother Bear.”

His brow lowered dangerously. “Don’t you dare start calling me that.”

“But why? It’s so friendly and cuddly sounding!”

“What have I done to deserve this,” he muttered.

She chortled, unable to contain her glee any longer. “Maybe I should call you Grumpy Bear instead. Grouchy Bear? Curmudgeonly Bear?”

Thom just gave a long suffering sigh and helped her off her horse. One of the scouts happened to come down the lift just as he began to remove the saddle, and took the horse from him to use on a mission to another part of the valley.

Suddenly they were standing next to Thom’s horse, the evening light turning everything golden around them. Lean’s teasing demeanor faded as she felt a surge of something she couldn’t quite place – shyness? That made no sense. 

He lifted her onto his horse, and she started to sit to the side. But when he mounted behind her, he made a noise of dissatisfaction.

“You’ll look less like spoils if you just ride astride,” he suggested. She admitted this made sense, and tried to turn, but her leg just wouldn’t cooperate – it wasn’t strong enough, and her hip was protesting fiercely at the strange rotation.

She hissed a curse as she gave up trying to lift it over the horse’s neck. “I’m sorry, I’m like a little old woman right now,” she muttered angrily.

“Shh, it’s fine,” he soothed, and put an arm around her waist.

Abruptly her anger faded as she felt his breath on her neck; he lifted her slightly from the saddle, and leaned back. He reached forward and put his other hand beneath her leg, and with his help she was able to slide it over the horse’s neck.

He quickly let go of her, to let her get settled in front of him, but she couldn’t move for a few long seconds. Her face burned, though thankfully he couldn’t see it.

When he’d first joined the inquisition – before she’d been so deep in love with Solas that she couldn’t think of anything else – she’d looked at him with…admiration, was how she classified it, although that was probably an understatement. And now the memory came rushing back, and she cursed herself for it.

They were friends, nothing more, and she’d do well to remember it; it was offensive to get so…rattled when he was only trying to be helpful.

She mentally pinched herself, and shifted a bit in the saddle so she was more comfortable.

“Thanks,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak normally just yet. “Let’s go.”


	9. Chapter 9

They were hailed with good cheer halfway down the pass leading into the hold, and Leanera smiled at the Avvar’s hearty greetings. What a contrast to the pomp and ceremony of the Winter Palace, the last ‘event’ she’d attended…she shuddered, and was happy to have her thoughts interrupted by their arrival at the Hold itself.

Runa Hethsdotten, whom Leanera and Thom had aided the last time they were in the Frostbacks, waved jovially as they passed through the gates. “Brought us an offering, have you Inquisitor?” she shouted, waggling her eyebrows at Thom, who merely rolled his own eyes considering they were already acquainted and he knew her jabs were in jest. “He’s almost big enough to be an Avvar, he is!”

Leanera snorted. “Indeed, but you can’t have him,” she demurred with a smile as he dismounted first.

“It’s like that, is it?” Runa winked broadly, and this unfortunately coincided with a strange and unwanted rush of emotion as Blackwall lifted her off the horse. Leanera flushed to the roots of her hair, realizing how she’d sounded.

“No! I mean – that’s not what – I meant I need him for – oh _fenedhis_!”

Runa by this time was cackling, but shook her head and held out her hand, gripping Lean’s forearm. “I shouldn’t tease you so, the Augur said you were laid so low even his spirits couldn’t reach you, I’m glad to see you’re recovered!”

Lean smiled, glad for the change of subject.

But she had forgotten that the Avvar hadn’t seen her new contraption of an arm yet. The Augur had seen it while she slept, but to the others it would be a surprise. Her shirt covered it at first, only her hand betraying the strange nature of her new appendage.

Arne Rofsen, a huger-even-than-usual one of their warriors that she was also acquainted with from her previous stint in the Basin, noticed it first, and Leanera felt a wave of shame and embarrassment.

His gaze fixed on it as he approached her, and her lips pursed into a thin line – she wasn’t about to let him see she was self conscious about it.

But as he drew closer she could see his expression was not one of shock or disgust, but wonder.

“What new gift have the gods bestowed on you, Lowlander?” he said loudly, and grasped her right forearm, eyes never leaving her left.

Seeing that he wasn’t recoiling, she decided to just get the reveal over with immediately, and yanked up the sleeve of her shirt past the elbow, holding her arm out for inspection.

A collective gasp sounded from the several Avvar who now surrounded them – some of them had been greeting Thom just behind her but now turned to find the cause of the ruckus.

“Where’d you get that?”

“It’s marvelous, what does it do? Can you open kegs with it?”

“Where can I get one?”

For one horrifying moment Leanera thought she might cry, her relief was so great. And not just because she’d avoided being pointed at, or avoided like a plague. But their immediate acceptance of the change in her eased her own dislike of it.

“I’m afraid it’s one of a kind,” she replied, laughing, “but if you like I can let Feldsen have a look at it while I’m here, just in case any of you gets their arm chomped off by a gurgut in the future.”

“Oh come now, at least assume it’d be a dragon,” Runa complained. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it was a dragon that got _you_ as a matter of fact, can’t imagine anything else doing so!”

Miraculously, the Avvar went silent, all their conversations dying down, and Runa suddenly realized that perhaps inquiring after the circumstances around such a calamitous event might be in poor taste even for them.

Leanera swallowed, unsure how to answer, but Thom came to her rescue.

“Worse,” he growled. “It was a god that took it – and rest assured I intend to pay him back tenfold.”

Leanera turned to stare at him, her brows drawing together. She’d never heard such menace from his voice in all the time she’d known him.

It concerned her. Surely he couldn’t hate Solas that much; no more than—well, _she_ didn’t hate him, not exactly. Two months ago she would have said she loved him, still. That he was misunderstood, that he could be made to see reason…

But now, she didn’t know. And this wasn’t the time to analyze it.

The awkward moment passed, and they were led to the huge bonfire in the center of the Hold, and plied with drinks.

Apparently Harding had declined to wait for them, making good her escape before said drinks were brought out.

As Leanera was speaking to Thane Sun-Hair, a commotion at the western entrance drew their attention.

Sigrid Guldsdotten had returned to the hold.

“She comes every year,” Svara explained as they waited for the other woman to approach. “At first some of her kin here were not pleased with her new…duties, for the Inquisition, but she kept coming, determined they would see she had not forsaken us. Her souvenirs may have done a good bit to soothe their ruffled feathers,” she added with a laugh.

“I didn’t realize she was coming back each year, I’m so glad!” Lean was sincere – if she could have maintained ties with her own clan, changed their mind about some things, she would have done so. She was happy to see Sigrid hadn’t been cut off from her people by joining the Inquisition.

*******

Some time later, Lean was sitting in a quiet corner of the hold with Sigrid, on her third cup of spirit-fire.

“I do love coming back, but…it is a bit overwhelming, after being on my own for so long,” Sigrid admitted. “On the one hand I miss the shouting, the loud laughter, the raucous singing. But on the other…I can’t usually get through the whole night without a break.”

Lean nodded. “Although perhaps you could pick some time other than the festival of the Mountain Father to return – they’re all guaranteed to be more rambunctious than usual then,” she laughed.

“True. But this was always my favorite festival growing up. When they tell the story about the hawk I used to think the flying was real and that when I grew up I could become a bird and go anywhere I wanted…”

Leanera tilted her head. “Well…you did, didn’t you?”

Sigrid blinked, and then her face split into a broad smile. She raised her glass, and downed the rest in one gulp. “S’pose I did, Inquisitor.”

Lean saw Thom glance at her again, always making sure she was safe, wasn’t getting too tired. He was a little ways away, in a group around a pair of Avvar having a drinking contest. He hadn’t fussed over her almost at all tonight, knowing she wouldn’t like to be seen being coddled. But he kept an eye out for her all the same, and she appreciated it.

Sigrid caught the direction of her gaze.

“So, being out and about and working for the Inquisition as I do,” she said, her voice much quieter now, “I…know the truth of what happened to your arm, of course. Are you…well?”

Lean looked down. “I’m…getting there, yes. Thank you.”

“Helps having someone.”

Lean nodded absently, fiddling with her wooden fingers. “My friends have been…invaluable,” she agreed. “Thom – I mean, Blackwall, especially,” she corrected; she had to remember that’s how they all knew him. It was odd that she’d just recently begun thinking of him as Thom, when so many others always did…

Sigrid remained silent, and Leanera’s hand suddenly went still. She raised her eyes to the other woman’s. “You meant—no…no we’re just friends.”

“I see. Well, pardon me, then.”

Lean blinked, looked back at Thom; he was laughing at something the others had said, and one of them clapped him on the back. He turned to her, caught her eye, and his smile softened.

She blushed, and looked away. “I…I couldn’t…that is, I don’t know…”

“Well, it looks to me as if you could, quite easily,” Sigrid said reasonably.

“No, he doesn’t think of me like that, Sigrid,” she finally managed. “And we’re very close, I would know.”

“Would you, now?”

“Yes! Surely—and I don’t want to…make things awkward. Ruin everything. It’s…it’s wonderful, having him around, and he helps me—” she broke off before she mentioned the dreams. “I just…I can’t.”

“Alright then, sorry I brought it up, Lowlander, we’ll speak no more of it.” She cleared her throat. “My old cabin is empty now, you know.”

Leanera stared at her. “W-what?”

Sigrid shrugged. “No point keeping it up just to stay there a few nights a year – I just bed down with one of my kin when I’m here.”

“I…”

“It’s a lovely place, though, you remember,” she continued nonchalantly. “Peaceful, quiet. Nice for meditating, if you like to be alone.”

Lean’s face had been warming as the Avvar spoke, and by the time she was done she thought she could fry eggs on it. “Yes…quite…” she managed to croak.

“Inquisitor! I seem to remember you can handle spirit fire quite well!” Arne called. “Come, let us see if you’ve lost your edge!”

Lean jumped up, and just barely managed to avoid stumbling; she was quite stiff after sitting on a log for the past hour. She had to remember she was still not quite recovered.

Thom caught her eye, but she gave a little shake of the head; she knew he’d try to get her out of this, but she couldn’t deny the challenge, it would ruin her reputation.

She held up her cup. “I’m three in – Sigrid can vouch for me! Who shall challenge the might of the Inquisition?” she called flagrantly, and ambled over to the other group.

Thom surreptitiously put a hand under her elbow.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

She turned to him, smiling, and Sigrid chose that moment to squeeze past her, practically shoving her into Thom’s chest.

“S-sorry,” she mumbled, glancing up at him, her face burning yet again – when had she begun this habit of blushing around him? Must be the drink…

All the revelry and back slapping had caused some hair to come loose of the bun he wore it in now that it was longer. She blinked away a strange urge to brush it away from his face.

 _Mythal preserve me_ , she thought. _I’ve got to get over this, or I’ll do something we’ll both regret…_

She cleared her throat, and gently disengaged, going to sit down at the little table in the center of the circle.

She set her cup down with a snap. “Well? Here I am!”

*******

“It’s not fair! She should have _less_ place to put the liquor, not more!” someone shouted from the crowd.

She held up her left arm. “I lied before, it’s a secret drink storage device,” she yelled, chortling at her own joke.

A roar of laughter, and even Thom chuckled, though he was a bit concerned about her level of inebriation. But he wouldn’t dare stop her, or even step in now that she’d beaten her opponent – he knew the rules.

Luckily Arne did it for him. “Well, you’ve beaten Elric fair and square,” he called, nudging the man on the ground with his boot. “The Inquisition has proven itself again, wouldn’t you say?” He looked around at the crowd, who gave a roar of approval, then hoisted Leanera up by her right arm.

“A true champion, this one! Long may she fight!”

Another deafening shout, and finally another pair of Avvar took their place, shouting taunts at one another as they filled their cups.

Leanera was stumbling, but with Arne’s support it merely looked as if she was walking off her stupor. But once they reached the relative quiet of the outside of the circle, Arne handed her over to Thom.

She nearly collapsed, and when Arne gave him a nod and gestured him to follow, he picked her up and trailed after.

Arne passed a couple of huts before stopping at a large one and opening the door. They entered a small room with a fire burning low; Arne went through a door and came back with several furs, which he tossed on the floor in front of the fire.

“Shouldn’t have goaded her like that,” he mumbled as Thom laid her down gratefully. “Knew she’d never turn it down, didn’t think she’d take it that far though.”

“Have you _met_ her?” Thom asked with heavy irony, and the bigger man chuckled.

“Aye, it’s true. She’s a fire-eater, that one. Come, she’ll be alright, and I’ve a mind to challenge you, I saw Runa making eyes at you at earlier!”

Thom froze for a moment, unsure what to do. He shouldn’t leave Lean when she was sleeping, not under any circumstances. But if he insisted on staying, one of two things would come of it: the Avvar would think she was weak as a babe, needing someone to babysit her when all she’d done was gotten drunk, or they’d think he was doing something lascivious to her. He wasn’t sure which prospect he liked less.

“I—”

“Well, man,” Arne began impatiently, “she’s in no state for anything anyway, and I won’t have you laying hands on her while she’s passed out—”

Thom held up his hands. “Maker’s breath, Rofsen, I’m not about to ravish her!” he said with disgust. That settled it – he’d just have to get through whatever challenge the man had in mind quickly and then come collect his Inquisitor and head back to the camp.


	10. Chapter 10

Thom tried to keep an ear out for trouble, glanced frequently down the hill at the hut where she slept. But in the end it was the Augur who brought her trouble to his attention.

He’d been speaking to Thane Sun-Hair, standing next to her ‘throne’ of sorts, as combatants sparred before her. Thom stood near, but behind, and heard a bit of their conversation. About the Inquisitor, no less.

“Aye, the spirits were much more drawn to her tonight, there’s definitely been a change in her since last I looked.”

“And you still don’t know why they stayed away before?”

“Nay. Never seen the like.”

Thom glanced aside at Arne, who was currently in the process of flattening his first opponent. Thom wasn’t overly confident about his chances, but better to take a mild beating than refuse to fight, at least in this bunch.

“Something’s not right,” he heard the Augur murmur. “The spirits are leaving…fleeing, almost—I must go!”

The Augur strode away, and all thoughts of fighting flew Thom’s mind as he saw which direction the shaman took.

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathed, and took off at a jog behind him.

He passed the huge man before they got to Arne’s home; the Augur held out an arm as Thom made to enter. “I do not think it is safe inside, warrior, you should exercise caution—”

“Caution bedamned!” he shouted and pushed past.

Leanera still lay on the furs, but far from the relaxed position in which he’d left her, she was tense, fists clenched, and her face wore such an expression of anguish he thought he might never forgive himself for leaving her here.

Immediately he knelt, put his hands on either side of her face. “Lean! Lean, I’m here, I’m sorry, I’m here,” he repeated, soothing, brushing her hair back.

But she didn’t wake. Unlike every time before, the noises she made now were…beseeching. He could almost hear her calling for him to help her.

But he couldn’t reach.

“A demon haunts her sleep,” the Augur guessed, and Thom gave a short nod, not turning away from her. He’d failed her, how could he have left her here, his only job, his only purpose was to protect her, and he’d just walked away and—

“Do you think you can vanquish him?”

He turned at that, wondering what sort of philosophical nonsense the Augur was rambling about when Lean’s life was on the line. “I could if I could get into her head, but I can’t do that, now can I?” he replied scathingly.

“There is a way to do just that, Lowlander. If you are not afraid.”

He stared at the Augur. “My only fear,” he said quietly but with grim despair, “is losing her.” He feared death far less. If the Augur had some sort of mystical method to help him, he would do it. There was nothing he wouldn’t do, in fact, if it meant saving her.

The augur nodded, and delved into the pouches he wore under his furs. He pulled out two feathers, shining golden in the dying light of the fire, and a pinch of some powder between two fingers of his other hand.

“I have never used this for such a purpose, but if her death – or worse – is the alternative, I see no reason to delay.”

Thom pulled Lean a little further into his arms. He leaned against the wall to the side of the fire, and nodded to the Augur. Whatever he was going to do, he’d better do it now, before it was too late.

The Augur placed one of the feathers over Lean’s eyes, and the other over Thom’s. Then he felt a strange tingle as the powder was blown into his face, and he breathed in deep through his nose.

Suddenly fire erupted in his chest; his eyes watered, but he wouldn’t cough and ruin whatever it was the Augur was trying to do, if he could just get through this he would—

*******

Thom blinked. Shit, he remembered this. It wasn’t what he expected, though he should have.

Mirrors, some broken, some whole, littered the landscape of the Crossroads, along with scattered skeletal trees. Lean knelt a ways before him, hunched over, arms – two arms of flesh and bone – wrapped tight around herself. He made to run towards her, but he covered barely any ground at all; in this tragedy of her making, distance made no sense. But he kept trying – he was getting closer, little by little.

He thought she was crying, but then he saw her hands curl into fists.

“Go away! You’re not real! You can’t do anything but scare me, you’re not even that powerful of a demon!” She shouted insults, but as soon as she looked up, figures materialized before her. Crowding around, looking at her with disdain.

A group of elves, one of whom bore a slight resemblance to her; all her advisers and companions in the Inquisition. Including Solas. Including Thom.

Her voice quieted as she looked around at them all. The elves turned away from her first.

“You have shamed us, Leanera,” the oldest one hissed.

“I was trying to make a way for us!” Lean pleaded softly. “Please—”

“Dreamer’s Eyes have led you astray!” Their figures were swallowed up in fog, dissipating in the grey light of this nightmare.

He called out to her, but his voice was snatched away by the breeze that also seemed to slow him even further.

She turned to Josephine, who sneered in disgust. “A Dalish? As Inquisitor? Do not be ridiculous. You are a…a barbarian.” She too walked away.

Each of her acquaintances turned their back on her and disappeared, most more than once. She’d fallen back to crying softly as they deserted her, over and over, despite her pleas, her reasons.

Thom thought he would break apart, watching her greatest fears come to pass. Before, when stuck in the Fade, he wondered what she’d seen; they’d all seen something different, then, and he didn’t want to think back to his own vision of fear. But this time, he was in _her_ nightmare, these visions for her alone, and witnessing it tore him in two.

But as everyone she loved disappeared, one by one, he was finally getting closer. Soon, surely, she’d be able to hear him.

Only Thom and Solas were left now.

_Please, Maker, don’t force me to watch this—_

“Solas…” she whispered, holding a hand out.

The elf smiled, and took her fingers in his own. Thom cringed; he’d never thought to see this happen again—

And with a laugh, Solas ripped Lean’s arm completely off.

Thom watched in horror as he tore it from her; no blood, just tendrils of black smoke dripping from the severed limb, and from Lean’s mangled shoulder.

Then the Dread Wolf laughed, several sets of red eyes coming alive on his forehead. And he turned, and disappeared through one of the mirrors.

Lean hadn’t made a sound, but she sobbed silently, rocking back and forth, her right arm clutched to her stomach.

And there ‘he’ stood, alone in the fog with the Inquisitor.

“Amelan,” she cried softly, reaching—

He was so close!

“I need you…”

He watched in trepidation as the other version of him knelt in front of her.

“Inquisitor…” Nightmare Thom Rainier murmured. “You are…nothing but a burden to me, can’t you see that? Do you think I _want_ to be stuck playing nursemaid to you?”

The real Thom cringed, and he knew he was crying angry tears, if crying could even be done in this place. How dare that imposter lie like that! He knew he was being irrational, but he was so angry he could barely see straight. Just a few more steps…

“I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

“You’re pathetic. And weak.” That voice was so brittle, so scathing, how could she bear it—

“You’ve ruined everything,” it hissed. “And how dare you think that I—”

“Lean!” Thom shouted. The Nightmare Thom wavered in front of her. She’d heard him, he knew she had!

“Leanera, I’m here! I’m not going anywhere!”

The image dissipated, and a high pitched screech echoed throughout Crossroads, reverberating, it seemed, between the mirrors that stood so uncannily in every direction.

Finally he was next to her, and he dropped down, pulled her against him.

She sucked in a breath, her eyes seeming to clear slightly.

“A-amelan?”

“Yes, it’s me, the real me, I’m here,” he soothed.

She clung to him with her remaining arm. “Oh gods—I knew you’d come! I was trying to stall but it…I couldn’t…”

“It’s alright, I saw, no one could withstand such an assault,” he assured her, holding her so tight he feared he’d constrict her breath. But they were in the Fade, he reminded himself. He held her tighter.

“You did well, my lady. You are strong, and courageous.” If only he could undo everything those nightmares had said to her…

Suddenly another voice echoed nearby.

“You come into my domain. And seek to retrieve that which is now mine.” A hiss, buzzing in his ears, inside his skull.

“She is NOT yours!” he shouted. “She will never be yours!”

He remembered snippets of conversations about the Fade. Some when they’d been stuck here, after Adamant, some from Cole, some even from Solas. Once, in particular, when he’d spoken to a spirit they encountered in Crestwood.

_“This realm follows different rules from the Fade’s. Will alone cannot overcome what you see.”_

The Fear Demon chattered on, trying to intimidate him, but he wasn’t even listening.

 _Will alone…will alone_. Could will alone vanquish this thing? Surely it couldn’t be that easy.

He looked down at his Inquisitor, shaking in his arms, and he knew without a doubt that if will could accomplish anything, his will to save her could absolutely turn this thing into dust.

“I suppose you no longer fear death,” it was saying, “but I’m sure I can—”

“I fear nothing but fear itself,” he shouted, concentrating on that thought as hard as he could, letting nothing else filter in.

The demon almost immediately took the bait, quicker than he could have imagined. It laughed, a cold crackling noise that sent a shiver down Thom’s spine, despite his determination.

“In that case, I have something you will _loathe_ ,” it hissed, and suddenly it stood before him, or floated rather, a hideous creature of singed sinew and creaking bone, dried blood caking the creases in its emaciated wings.

Leanera cringed away from it, and it laughed, a reedy hiss this time, but little did it know her fear only galvanized Thom. He stepped between her and the demon.

The demon lunged toward him, faster almost than thought; Thom reached out a hand, and it wrapped perfectly about the creature’s disgusting neck.

The demon was face to face with him now, and either this would work, or he and Lean would both be defeated and stuck here forever.

“I _will_ destroy you,” he said with all the conviction he could muster, thinking of Lean trembling behind him, reaching for him, calling his name.

And he squeezed.

The scream that poured forth from the creature was deafening, seeming to swallow him whole, but he merely concentrated harder; he would not let this thing win. He refused.

The demon’s throat collapsed with a wet crunch, and within seconds the rest of its form had shrunken in on itself, pieces falling away until its dust blew off of Thom’s hand, carried away in the Crossroads’ breeze.

*******

He fell to his knees, more exhausted than he’d ever been. But he couldn’t rest just yet, he had to make sure his—

But she was there, her hand on his shoulder. The light was growing perceptibly brighter, trees that had appeared cold and haunting taking on color, even leaves.

She crawled around to kneel in front of him, this time leaning forward to put her forehead against his.

“How did you get here, _amelan_ ,” she whispered, and he barely silenced a gasp when she began to stroke his hair. Maker’s breath…one gesture, so simple, but if that was to be his reward for fighting a demon, he would take it, any day.

“I…” Even in her dream he couldn’t say anything he wished. But perhaps now was not the time. “The Augur,” he said simply.

Her smile was fleeting, but she sighed with relief. “He will get us out, then.”

She leaned back, and when he raised his eyes to hers, he was unable to prevent tears of guilt from overtaking him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered roughly. “I am at fault for this. I never should have left you, no matter how much you drank, I should have—”

“Shh,” she soothed, and touched his hair again. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to get a hold of himself.

“It’s alright, my warrior,” she breathed. “Don’t you know what this means?”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“The demon that plagued my sleep is gone.” She sat back and moved her hand to rest on his, where they were clenched In his lap. “I won’t have to be a burden to you anymore.”

His eyes flew to hers; now she was crying, but trying to smile through it—no, no this was not what he’d wanted at all! She thought that nightmare held some truth, but it didn’t!

“Leanera, I—”

Abruptly the light started to fade, and he blinked.

And opened his eyes in the floor of Arne’s hut, before the fire.


	11. Chapter 11

“I would strongly prefer you didn’t,” Thom insisted under his breath, and finally Lean relented.

“Alright, if you still don’t think it’s safe, but I saw you vanquish that thing with my own two eyes,” she said quietly.

“Yes, well, that’s as may be, but I’d still rather be cautious.”

She nodded, and then turned and held her hand out to Sigrid. “Thank you, but Thom and I are going to ride back now. We don’t want to disturb your festivities any further.”

Thom had to work to keep his expression neutral when he listened to her voice. It was so strange, and sad, and…resigned.

Sigrid glanced at him as she gripped Lean’s forearm. “Remember what I said, Inquisitor,” she murmured.

“That’s not…a possibility now, Sigrid.”

Sigrid shook her head. “A pity.”

Thom couldn’t follow this exchange, but whatever it was about, it seemed to make Lean even more melancholy, though ostensibly she was just tired.

They took their leave; thankfully only a handful of the Avvar saw them off, the rest continuing their revels into the night. Lean was careful not to lean into him too much once they were both on the horse, trying desperately to sit perfectly upright, though her shoulders were rounded with fatigue.

“Lean…it’s some time before we get back, I’m not rushing in the dark. You should sleep.”

“I’d rather not trouble you,” she said flatly.

He stopped the horse.

“W-what are you doing—” she began as he got off, and though she looked at him with confusion she allowed him to help her dismount as well.

He took both her hands, held them between his own.

“Inquisitor,” he said sternly. “Leanera. That man in the nightmare not me. _Not. Real_. Do you understand?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I…I know, yes, but it’s only logical that you would feel—”

“Well consider me the village idiot,” he interrupted. “Because I do not, nor will I _ever_ consider you a burden. Do you believe me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear escaped and tracked slowly down her cheek. He reached up, brushing it away with his thumb.

“Please, my lady, tell me you believe me?” He was practically begging now, but he couldn’t keep the truth of how he felt out of his voice completely.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. In their deep emerald depths he saw determination, and strength. “I believe you,” she said softly. “You came all the way into the Fade to save me. How could I have thought you don’t really care?”

He had never wanted to kiss her worse than he did in that moment. To show her just how much he did, in fact, care for her.

But he banished the thought ruthlessly.

“Good. Now, will you sleep, or do I have to use some of the Augur’s powder on you?”

She chuckled wearily, and he heaved a sigh of relief that they were once again on normal footing. She shook her head. “No further argument from me.”

This time he put her back on the horse as he had when they first started out that afternoon, with her across the saddle, and once he got on behind her, she leaned against his chest, and fell asleep almost immediately.

Once again he weighed his reward against the effort expended. The heart-wrenching scenes he’d had to witness, the demon he’d had to face. And once again, he considered the recompense well worth it.

*******

She woke only enough to dismount when they arrived at camp, then ride the lift up to the hut, and pass out in the bed. He went so far as to remove her harness and her boots, but otherwise left her alone. He tried to be away from her as little as possible, despite what had happened in the Fade – somehow he was even more protective of her, now, though he had supposedly vanquished what was haunting her.

But he knew he hadn’t, not really. He’d dealt with the demon, yes, but that had only been drawn to her because of her own fear and despair. The demon might be gone, but those things yet remained, although she seemed to be overcoming them, little by little.

Exhausted as he was, sleep eluded him. He played over the events of her dream in an endless loop, analyzing her interaction with the nightmare version of him, with Solas. He normally wasn’t so prone to overthinking, but knowing that he’d seen her thoughts…if only circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he could have…gauged, somehow…

But no, that would have been hideously invasive. To try to manipulate her into revealing something he wanted to know. He hoped even if he had gotten an opportunity to do such a thing, he would have resisted the temptation.

He might not like what he learned, in any case. Knew, of course, that he wouldn’t – it would just confirm his assurance that she was reaching out to him as nothing but a friend. Her protector, yes, and a very close friend, maybe, but nothing beyond that.

But he was a little surprised she hadn’t pleaded more with Solas. Perhaps at that point she was just so far into despair she couldn’t formulate the words…but even when she spoke his name, she sounded more wistful, than despondent. Reaching for something that was irrevocably gone, that she’d moved on from, but for which she felt nostalgia nonetheless.

He shook his head in the darkness. What an idiot – he needed to stop waxing philosophical about the Inquisitor’s dreams and go the hell to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Lean opened her eyes to a shaft of bright sunlight pouring across the bed like a physical beam.

She smiled, and held her hand out, disrupting the dust motes, warmth suffusing her skin.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she registered the solid arm beneath her head; impulsively she turned on her left side, and snuggled against her protector, draping an arm over his chest.

Without really waking, he gave a contented rumble and practically crushed her to him; realizing she was quite pinned she pursed her lips to avoid laughing and truly waking him. Besides, it didn’t hurt her shoulder to lay on that side for a bit, she just didn’t like to remain on it all night.

She rested her head against his chest, allowing her these few minutes of even closer proximity than they had most nights. She knew when he woke up he would immediately release her, and probably apologize, even though it was her fault.

She thought about what Sigrid had said…

Was there really…some chance, for something? Between her and her protector?

She’d always been so sure that their relationship was completely platonic. Surely she hadn’t been that blind, all this time? Or perhaps his attraction to her was new?

She discounted that thought immediately – who would discover an attraction for someone only after they’d been grossly traumatized by their previous mate? Physically _and_ emotionally, at that. No man would look at a woman who was missing a limb and think – hmm, she’s lovelier than I realized.

Lean cringed at the thought; if he did entertain any feelings for her at all beyond friendship, she didn’t know how. The Avvar’s treatment of her arm last night had made her feel a bit less self-conscious about it, but that didn’t extend to…intimacy or anything like it.

She squeezed her eyes shut; she shouldn’t even be thinking such nonsense. It was one thing to – very tentatively – entertain the thought that she could have feelings for him, and he for her. It was a far cry to anticipate intimacy between them that wasn’t even on the table yet.

But as she listened to his heartbeat, she couldn’t help the hum of…something, that settled within her. Like a vibration at a frequency she wasn’t used to, but found quite pleasant; a warm, comforting sound, yes, but also…something else, now. Something that was intensified by the awareness of his solid body against hers, the weight of his arm around her.

Suddenly her hand itched to explore further; to slide over his chest, to his neck, into his hair.

What was she thinking? She had a few inappropriate thoughts and now she was going to…to molest him in this bed he so kindly shared with her?

Ridiculous.

She didn’t want to disturb him, but clearly she was in a strange mood and needed to burn off some of her energy.

And she did have energy – more than she’d had any morning yet, despite being up until the wee hours the night before, and despite her experience in the Fade. She didn’t exactly feel like _herself_ again, her old self – she doubted she ever would. But maybe that was alright. Maybe it wasn’t wise to go back, even if you could.

A few minutes later she was doing pushups on the platform outside; managing a lot less than she used to be capable of, but still managing something, and that was important. Her strength was returning; it would be a few days, yet, before she could manage the long trek back to Skyhold, but she was getting there.

She lowered herself abruptly to the deck with a huff, caught unawares by a sharp twist in her stomach.

Once they left…

It wouldn’t be the same, when they got back. They’d spend much less time together, until there was another thing that needed her attention, and they could go on the road again. And at Skyhold she couldn’t just…shack up in Thom’s room, or he in hers, without an uproar. She would have no excuse to, then, either; he’d vanquished the demon, hadn’t he?

The excuse of waiting a few days – just to make sure – before she began sleeping alone again, was less flimsy out here, in the basin, while she was still, technically, recovering. When they went back home…

She made a noise of frustration, and raised herself back up. But both her arms shook, now, and she only managed for another few seconds before she flopped to the ground, and rolled over, panting. Sunlight dappled her face through the thick jungle foliage, and she closed her eyes, determined to purge her mind of all its increasingly useless and unproductive thoughts.

Before she could even get started, the object of these thoughts cast a shadow over her. She didn’t even need to open her eyes; his step was familiar to her.

“I’m not overdoing it,” she said before he could speak.

He crouched next to her, silent, and then she did open one eye, peering up at him. He’d re-tied his hair; all tidy and pulled back. More’s the pity.

He looked pensive. “What troubles you, my warrior?” Luckily her face was already warmed by the sun, surely the flush that crept over it was invisible. Stupid to blush over something she’d been calling him for years. “Other than fighting demons. All in a day’s work for you.”

He mumbled some reply, stared at his hands, linked in front of him.

She got up, put a hand on his knee. She was so stupid sometimes…

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make light of it – don’t know how I’m even able, to be honest—”

“No, it’s not…I mean, it _is_ that, but if you’re not dwelling on it there’s no reason I should be.”

She sighed. “I…I think my relief is at your expense,” she whispered, knowing it was true but unsure how to explain it.

“How do you mean?”

“I…was dealing with that shadow for some time, Thom. You can’t know it, I didn’t say, but…it was there, as soon as—” she broke off, and swallowed. “After my arm,” she said flatly, and he put his hand over hers.

“I could feel it, whenever I slept. And the worse it got, the worse _I_ got, and vice versa. And the demons I’ve dealt with all my life – the visions you saw in my dream – suddenly they had even more power to hurt me.”

“Lean…I had no idea that’s why you weren’t—”

“I didn’t understand it, at the time. Not until the other night, when it finally came to a head. And it felt…familiar. So familiar.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright with tears that she refused to let fall. “So yes, that nightmare was…horrifying, and I don’t want to ever go through it again. But now those…those memories can’t hurt me anymore. Because of you.”

He took a deep breath, and she was so afraid – despite his dedication, perhaps this was too much to put on him. She’d kept this part of her hidden from all save one, before; and that one had betrayed her.

But Thom had seen it with his own eyes; she could hardly continue hiding it from him.

Even so…

“I…I’m sorry, I’m sorry you had to do that, and sorry I—”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured, absently stroking her hand, his eyes fixed on hers.

A sliver of thought cut through the unease she felt – would a friend touch her that way? Cassandra would never. Dorian either…

The crank from the lift nearby clanked abruptly into action, and both of them practically jumped apart.

“I was thinking of going to bathe in the river,” Thom mumbled, crossing his arms. “But I’d rather not leave you here alone—”

“I could go! I’d love to have a—oh, no I don’t mean at the same—Mythal preserve me!” It served her right for thinking lascivious thoughts about him and trying to talk at the same time. _But those muscles…wet and gleaming in the sun…_

“ _FENEDHIS_ ,” she practically shouted, covering her face, just as one of the scouts stepped off the lift.

“Uhh…Inquisitor?” the man inquired, thinking he’d done something amiss.

“No, no everything’s fine, I’m just umm. I’ve a hangover. From the Avvar festivities,” she lied, but what a handy falsehood to have laying about.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he replied, lowering his voice dramatically, and she would have laughed if she weren’t still steeped in shame.

Thom, for his part, stared at her with the utmost perplexity.

“Is the water quite cold?” she asked him as soon as she was able to look him in the face.

“Quite.”

“Perfect.”


	13. Chapter 13

Half an hour later, Leanera had gotten a bit of her spunk back, and was teasing Thom mercilessly.

“I don’t see what the problem is, you can’t see anything, the foliage is quite thick.” As if she hadn’t just made an ass out of herself over _thinking_ of seeing him – it was really very unfair of her. But when she was teasing _him_ , her mind was distracted from the thoughts she was trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Well if something happens I can hardly—”

“If something happened to me while I was bathing you couldn’t really do much anyway, now could you?”

He was silent for a moment, and she stepped to the other side of the little strip of riverbank from where he stood, and started undressing.

Being sure to throw her clothes over the top of the branches just to embarrass him.

“That’s really below the belt, Leanara,” he grumbled.

“Why Ser Rainier, you’ll make me blush!” she replied in the most dainty tone of voice she could manage.

“That’s not—Maker’s balls, Lean you can’t just—”

She chortled. She knew she was being effective when he started resorting to more vulgar language.

“Are you this evil to all your friends,” he called.

They both exclaimed at the same time when they waded into the water – it was only up to her ankles but she let out a little squeal, and heard him gasp.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Just jump in, easier that way!”

“Make sure you don’t swim very far out or the tree won’t block your—”

She lost the rest as she plunged into the water; it was only a few feet deep just off the bank, but she couldn’t go out much further or she’d get carried off by the current.

The cold effectively shoved every thought out of her head, and she came up almost immediately, gasping. “Bloody hell that’s cold,” she mumbled through clenched teeth, echoing his earlier curse.

She waded back to her clothes, pulled out the soap she’d wrapped up in her pocket.

“I find it quite refreshing,” Thom called out across the foliage, and she scowled. How dare he taunt her!

“Well perhaps you have more insulation keeping you warm,” she said sweetly.

“Are you insinuating that I’m hairy?”

“I’m not _insinuating_ anything!”

He sighed so loudly she could hear it over the rushing of the water. “It’s true, but you know…some ladies like a…hirsute gentleman…”

She snorted. “Yes, and some ladies like to hoard nugs!”

“Ouch.”

She thought she heard a fraction of the amusement leave his voice, and it occurred to her belatedly that he couldn’t know that she…well, had no problem with his chest hair. The few times she’d seen it anyway. And he might think she was truly put off by it.

“You know, it’s actually umm…rather charming,” she said uncertainly, and then could have slapped herself. What kind of idiotic thing was that to say? His _chest hair_ was _charming_? She really did have issues.

“Yes, nugs are…very cute,” he replied, voice tinted with bewilderment.

She chortled. “Not nugs, you ridiculous man!”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Now what was she supposed to say? “I’ll explain later,” she said lamely, and flopped back into the water to rinse her hair.

*******

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was baiting him on purpose. But why? She’d never teased him in such a way before. Surely she hadn’t…guessed at his true feelings? Had he shown too much affection last night, and this morning?

Even so, it wasn’t normally her nature to be purposefully cruel. Finding he had a weakness for her and exploiting it was absolutely not her style.

But still, her jokes stung him. He should have known better than to let any doubts creep into his head, about whether or not she might regard him differently one day.

Look at him – he was a brute, and she was grace itself. He’d rarely gotten any attention from elves – he knew why, and it didn’t really bother him; most of them were on the skinny side anyway, not his type.

But being reassured that he wasn’t _her_ type…didn’t do much for his mood. Served him right for – even jokingly – hinting something.

He got dressed quickly and waited for her to emerge from her side of the leaves. At least he’d done a decent job of avoiding any thoughts of her in the water— _dammit_. But he shook his head. No use letting those thoughts get carried away; wasn’t as if he’d ever see her in the flesh anyway.

After a minute she emerged, original clothes under one arm, wringing her hair out as she moved towards him.

He turned and headed back to the camp; she followed silently for a minute, but eventually he heard her fall behind. When she cleared her throat, he turned.

“Did you leave something?”

She sighed. “I…didn’t mean to be rude, back there,” she answered softly, not looking at him.

He shrugged, and lied. “Just teasing. Doesn’t matter.”

“I would agree, if you…if you knew…” Now her face was red. He appreciated her apology, but didn’t understand what had her worked up.

“I’ve seen you training, you know.”

He blinked. She…what? “I…alright?”

“I mean…w-without your shirt,” she mumbled, twisting her fingers together, wooden and flesh alike. Then she dropped her clothes from under her arm, rushed to pick them up, dusted them off, all while he stared at her like the village idiot he’d claimed to be the night before.

Finally, having rolled the clothes nearly into a knot, she spoke again.

“I umm…I actually don’t have any problem with…that is, I’ve…” She took a deep breath. “I’ve always found you very pleasing to look at,” she blurted in a rush, and then hurried past him down the path.

He stared after her, unable to close his mouth for a solid five seconds.

Had she just…admitted she found him _attractive_? Surely he’d misunderstood her! His stomach tied itself in fifty knots, and despite the cold dip he’d just taken he felt sure he was sweating.

But…why else would she be so awkward, so shy?

Andraste’s beard…

*******

When Leanera got back to the camp – she went the long way round and climbed the ramp so as to avoid standing awkwardly in the lift with him – she found Sigrid had come to pay a visit.

She greeted her with enthusiasm, relieved to have something to distract her. “Sigrid! What’s brought you here, is everything alright at the Hold?”

Sigrid raised an eyebrow at her manner. “Nothing wrong at the Hold, but it seems you might have a thing or two to tell me,” she said archly, glancing at Leanera’s wet hair, and then to the next platform where Thom was getting off the lift, obviously also coming from the river.

“No! No, nothing like – we just – come here!” She took Sigrid’s arm and led her to a tent a few platforms away, where she tossed her things on the cot there and then flopped onto it herself, propping her elbows onto her knees and lowering her head into her hands.

“By the Lady,” Sigrid said mildly as she ducked in behind her. “That bad?”

“This is all your fault, Sigrid!” Lean hissed.

“I fail to see how you being in love has anything to do with me.”

“I am _not_ —” she nearly shouted, then closed her eyes and began again. “I’m not…in _love_ , do not be ridiculous! I am merely…confused. And…awkward, and tongue-tied, and constantly blushing _oh Mythal preserve me, I AM_! Shit!”

Sigrid helpfully patted her on the back. “Rest easy, Lowlander – perhaps you’re just infatuated?”

“I was infatuated years ago, or could have been,” she mumbled, not looking up. “But I’m an idiot, and—well, no use dwelling on that, but the point is, Sigrid…there _is_ no point!”

Sigrid sat on the opposite cot, practically filling the entire tent with her presence.

“Listen, Inquisitor. Perhaps you should just…test the waters with him. If you two are as good of friends as you say…even if he doesn’t return your affection, he’ll still care about you in the way he always has, and you can move on from it.”

“I…I’m not sure it works that way.”

“Is _this_ working?” The Avvar asked reasonably. “At all?”

Lean sighed. “I suppose not.”

“Well, all told I can’t say I’m not glad to see you in these straits.”

Leanera glanced at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well, for one, it seems you’ve recovered from your incident; the Augur actually sent me to check on you for that very reason.”

“Oh! How considerate of him! Yes, actually, I felt quite…renewed this morning.”

“Good. Which brings me to my second point – I brought this for you.” She held out the small package she’d held under her arm. “I’m no seamstress, but I tried to fix it up a bit for you.”

“S-seamstress? What—”

“Open it later. Might need to make more adjustments. It’ll definitely be too long.”

“Sigrid, tell me what it is!”

Sigrid sighed. “It’s my joining dress. A wedding dress, you lowlanders would call it. And no, I don’t mean I was married in it – my sister made it for me, but I don’t intend to ever use it. It ought to be worn in the spirit in which it was made.”

“Sigrid I can’t take this,” Lean whispered hotly, overwhelmed with the significance of the gift. “You can’t know that you won’t get married, just because—”

“I don’t _want_ to, Inquisitor,” Sigrid corrected gently. “And because of you, I’m able to go off and pursue what I _do_ want, without all the expectations of the hold weighing on me.”

Lean blinked. “I…oh. But…are you sure?”

Sigrid smiled, something Lean had rarely seen her do, and held out her hand. They gripped each other’s forearms warmly. “I’m sure,” she confirmed, giving a decisive nod.

They rose and exited the tent. “Well, glad you’re feeling better,” Sigrid said stridently, and patted her on the back; Lean was a bit bewildered for a moment until she realized Thom must be nearby.

“Yes, indeed,” she responded in kind, “thank you for your concern.”

The Avvar nodded, shared a brief greeting with Thom, and then was off, taking the lift back to the forest floor.

“So Sigrid came to check on you?” Thom asked, watching her depart. “That was kind of her.”

“Y-yes, it was. Very kind.”

Thom turned to look at her, and no wonder if she was going to speak to him as clumsily as that from now on.

Lean bit her lip. Perhaps it was time to put Sigrid’s suggestion to the test.

She raised her gaze with determination. When her eyes met his she resolved not to flinch or look away. Blushing…there was no help for that.

“I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”

“Of course, whatever you need.”

“You say that now…” she couldn’t prevent a slight smirk; one of these days his willingness to aid her would spell his undoing.

He glanced at her mouth, then back up, she noted with extreme gratification.

“I have some trouble braiding my hair, now,” she explained innocently. “I was wondering if I might teach you how to do it? I always had help at Skyhold, but here it’s…”

He swallowed. “I…I’m sure I’m much too clumsy for something like that,” he protested, “although I’d be happy to try, if you…if you wish. But are you sure you…I mean, you could just leave it down…”

“Well, yes but it gets in the way, and I—”

She broke off, suddenly realizing he wasn’t just trying to get out of a chore. Watching him closely, she began running her fingers through it, combing out the last of the tangles since it was almost dry.

He stared; dragged his eyes away. They strayed back.

 _Maker’s breath_ , she thought stupidly. Was…was Sigrid right?

“Perhaps you’ve a point,” she finished airily, and walked past him into the hut they shared, letting her arm brush his as she went.

She put her bundle of clothes and Sigrid’s package next to her side of the bed, resolving to have a look at it as soon as Thom was out of sight.

Slowly he followed her inside.

“I umm…if you really need me to, I wouldn’t mind…that is—”

With sheer force of will she hid her smile when she turned to face him. “Just in case?”

“Right.”

“Okay, so—”

She took his hand and led him to the bed, had him sit down on the edge of it. Her heart was racing now; she’d gotten herself into this, so she deserved it, but she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

She sat down in front of him, his knees on either side of her.

How had she _slept_ right next to him so many nights…and thought of nothing but how peaceful it was to have him near…

Well it was decidedly less peaceful now, but not in a bad way.

Unbidden, it occurred to her to question whether she’d felt this way about Solas, or anyone else in her past, although she’d certainly never had any very intense relationships before him, in comparison.

She had, to a point. She could admit that. But the things that attracted her to him had been very different. Like night and day. But she could also say with certainty that it wasn’t just this difference that drew her to Thom; she’d been drawn to him from day one, but unfortunately for both of them another’s light had shone brighter, had overshadowed him.

She shook these thoughts from her head, and began her impromptu lesson.

*******

Thom was glad Lean faced away from him; she couldn’t see how inordinately fast he was breathing, the inappropriate expression on his face. He was lucky his hands weren’t shaking.

He did as she directed – separate it into three parts, cross this one this way, the other one over that one – he could barely concentrate over the hammering of his heart in his ears as the silken weight of her hair passed through his fingers.

When he got done, he thought he’d done passably, but…

“Let me try again,” he heard himself say; then cursed internally, he was just prolonging this torture.

“Good idea,” she agreed – did he imagine she was a little breathless? Must be projecting his own reaction onto her. “But make sure you comb it out or it will tangle when you try to do it again.”

No, she definitely had an odd quality to her voice…

What in the Maker’s name was going on today? He couldn’t remember once in his life being more confused or off-balance.

He unraveled the work he’d done, running his fingers through her tawny locks as she’d instructed. He closed his eyes and sighed silently – surely it wasn’t wrong enough to enjoy such a simple pleasure?

“Mmmm,” she murmured in obvious contentment, and a shiver ran up his spine.

He couldn’t keep doing this…her innocent reaction was causing him to think of a thousand things that were…anything but innocent. It was wrong, and he knew it, but it was the first time he’d had such difficulty stifling his baser instincts…

He cleared his throat, and quickly tried the braid again, this time not letting his fingers linger where they shouldn’t. He gave her a little pat on the shoulder. “Well, that’s that then. Think I could do in a pinch.” He chuckled nervously, but he couldn’t get up until she did.

He thought she sighed, but she rose, and with relief he did too.

“I’m…going to go get some practice with the training dummies on the next platform,” he said abruptly, his voice sounding hoarse.

She just nodded. “I’m falling behind on my book. Thank you, for…” she lifted her braid, the end of it held in her hand until she could get something to tie it off.

“Of course.”

He hurried out, hoping to knock some sense back into himself.


	14. Chapter 14

Lean sat heavily on the bed.

Well, that experiment had gone awry. She pressed her hands to her face; she felt stupid, ashamed. She’d been so sure that he was responding in just the way she’d hoped, but then…

He seemed be put off by something she’d done…it must have been the noise she made. She didn’t even do it on purpose, she just enjoyed his hands in her hair so much it slipped out…

She sighed. Now would be a good time to check the dress that Sigrid had given her, but she didn’t much feel like it; she felt discouraged in the whole endeavor.

What was the point of the dress if Thom had no interest in her? None, that was what. And she wasn’t about to try wearing the dress to _get_ his attention – she almost never wore dresses, and if that was the only way to entice him to look at her…

She was so confused. This past few days had been so perplexing, full of near-nauseating ups and downs. She’d been so sure, just a little while ago, that he—

Well, since this strange situation kept vacillating back and forth, she might as well just have a look at the dress, just in case…

She glanced out the window as she walked around the bed. And stopped in her tracks; the next platform was a few feet below this one, and directly through the window she could see Thom practicing…

 _Dear heavens_. Was that…really necessary...

She was nearly mesmerized by his movements; there was grace in his form, there was no denying. And a lot of other…enticing qualities…

She squeezed her eyes shut, and forced herself to move out of line of sight of the window.

She laid the bundle on the bed, undid the string. The plain cloth wrapping fell away, and as she lifted the contents, she gasped.

She should have known an Avvar joining-dress would be something out of the ordinary, but this…

Pale buff-colored leather strips crossed the top, forming a sort of wide weave, and from the collarbone down, the softest white Avvar cotton filled in the gaps, and floated down in cloud-like folds. It even had one strap just below each shoulder, with the same cotton forming a flowing sleeve.

The straps met at the back of the neck, tying together with a leather cord, and when she turned to look at the back, she realized there was no other fastening; once the neck tie was released the entire dress would fall to the floor.

Her breath caught at the insinuation, a flush staining her cheeks.

Sigrid’s faith in her far outstripped the reality of the situation, she feared. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t wear the dress anyway – for _something_ , if not for _that_.

When she held the dress up to her, she giggled – Sigrid was nearly a head taller than she, and it showed in the length of the gown. There was no way she had the time or the skill to hem it properly. But maybe if she just sort of…cinched it up, in the front?

She was likely even less of a seamstress than Sigrid, but she at least knew the basics of sewing; one had to, as a Dalish, as a scout, and as the Inquisitor who spent a lot of time traveling. If she couldn’t fix the rents in her own shirts she would have been in serious trouble before now.

She risked a glance out the window; saw that Thom had wrangled a sparring partner, one of the soldiers. She didn’t envy him, but she did appreciate his sacrifice; he’d keep Thom out of her hair long enough to finish this, so she hoped.

She found needle and thread in her pack – thankfully the contents hadn’t been scattered to the ends of Thedas when she’d left her hart…she still couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish. But she wasn’t in her right mind, then – trying, unbeknownst even to her, to escape the fear demon that was feeding off her terrified dreams.

Damn the Anchor! It had done this to her, made her more sensitive to the Fade and magic – and more attractive to demons and spirits. Had forced her to fight Corypheus more than once. Had taken the man she loved – also more than once.

Had cost her her arm.

But then…good things had come of it too, hadn’t they?

She was the leader of the Inquisition – an Elven Inquisitor, just like the last, with the power to help bring some equality and dignity back to her people. Assuming Solas didn’t ruin everything she’d accomplished.

She’d helped so many people…

She’d made so many friends; family, really – Cassandra, Varric, Dorian; all of them.

And Thom.

Without the Anchor she never would have known him.

All in all, she never would have wished any of the events of the past few years to happen – too many people had lost their lives. But the rifts were barely more destructive than the war that had already been brewing between templars and mages, one which would have exploded one way or another, even without help from a tainted Magister enabled by a misguided God.

And there was no changing the past, anyway – contrary to what Magister Alexius had thought – so one may as well try to find the best in what’s already come to pass.

She shook her head and got to work.

*******

That night Lean was tense with worry – that Thom would finally announce that he would be vacating the hut in favor of sleeping in one of the tents, instead. Briefly the thought of putting on the dress flitted through her mind, but even in her excitable state she knew very well that was a awful idea.

But she couldn’t keep on like this, Sigrid was right. And she certainly wasn’t about to try to sit here and explain her feelings to Thom in the middle of camp, where any of the soldiers could come by at any time and overhear or interrupt them – that particular circumstance was bad enough as it was.

Assuming whatever happened tonight didn’t change her mind, she decided that soon, she would just talk to him. She’d walk with him up to Sigrid’s hut, and they could have a private, serious discussion about what was going on between them.

If anything _was_ going on, and she wasn’t losing her mind.

Hearing Thom’s step outside the door, she quickly opened Hard in Hightown, aiming for nonchalance; if she could pretend nothing was wrong, maybe he wouldn’t want to leave? She stared blankly at the page, not seeing a single word, all her senses trained on him, hoping desperately he’d just take off his boots as he had every other night and come to bed.

“Um…Lean…” he began hesitantly. She blinked, hard, knowing what was coming.

She took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to his.

“Your book’s upside down,” he pointed out helpfully.

Her eyes widened; she looked down, and sure enough could not read a single upside-down word. _Fenedhis_.

“I…I’m just a bit…tired,” she lied.

He chuckled a little, and shook his head. “You and me both.” He sat down, took off his boots, and took the Tyrdda Bright-Axe papers out of the book of poetry. “Now, where were we?”

*******

He couldn’t allow himself much more of this – soon his attraction to her would overwhelm him, and rather than let it get the better of him and he try to kiss her or some such nonsense, he should just get everything out in the open, and let her decide what to do. If she wanted to send him back to Skyhold without her, and come back with Bull alone, he would understand. But maybe she’d be able to get past it, and they could continue on.

It wasn’t her fault he felt this way – well, it was, in a way. She was enchanting, strong, determined, skilled with a bow, fearless – in the face of anything but a literal fear demon – intelligent…the list went on. But she hadn’t meant to…encourage his feelings. She was just…she didn’t know what it did to him, to tease him the way she did. Once she knew, she would stop, and then they could be friends once more. Perhaps never again to sleep in the same bed, but that was growing tough for his sanity, so it was probably just as well.

Knowing that any night now might be their last spent together – before he was either sent away, or at least had to retreat to a tent – he made sure to read the rest of Tyrdda’s story.

He stopped after the seven stanza – barely managing to get through the lines about “love-sweat morning” – the story too sad for him to continue just yet.

Lean’s face too was pensive, and he asked her for a summary of Hard in Hightown to get her mind off the sad parting of Tyrdda and her leaf-eared lover.

He had a feeling he’d soon identify all too closely with the Avvar legend.

When Lean fell asleep, he stared at the final page of the story, reading the ending several times until he’d all but memorized it inadvertently. He wished, now, that he’d read her the whole thing. “Hearts both whole, now neither aching.”

If only he could guarantee such an ending for himself.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW

Lean’s nerves were practically tingling, and she prayed she wasn’t doing the wrong thing – but she had a plan, and she was going to go through with it, no matter how anxious she got.

She knew she could trust Lace to help her; but she still felt…manipulative, somehow, wearing the dress this way. But she wasn’t trying to get him to sleep with her, just see her in a different light. Maybe a light he hadn’t considered.

Whether it would work…well, she would know in a few hours.

She told him she needed to have something mended at the main camp; it was beyond her ability to fix.

“I can just take it for you, there’s no need for you to go that far.”

“You know, it’s really lovely out, and it’s not _that_ far to walk, so I thought I could get some exercise that way…”

He looked at her strangely for a moment, but shrugged. “If you wish to go I’m happy to go with you.”

She beamed at him, and gathered her things – the dress in its bundle under arm, masquerading as the shirt. He glanced at the parcel, but said nothing, and soon they were on the way to the main camp.

She badgered him into telling her of the pirate story he was reading – he’d asked her about her book, she said, it was only fair! She found his embarrassment adorable.

It only took an hour to reach the other camp – would have taken less, if Thom didn’t insist on walking slowly to ensure she didn’t wear herself out.

Her precious protector…

Immediately upon arrival, she spotted Lace, and jerked her head towards the cabin. Lace was nothing if not observant, and immediately waved at her. “Inquisitor! Good to see you out and about, can I have a word with you about something?”

Lean nearly sagged with relief, told Thom she’d be right back, and headed into the building behind her head Scout.

“What in the name of Andraste is going on, Lean??” she demanded in a hushed hiss as soon as the door was shut. “You two both look like you’ve been chewing lizard tails!”

Leanera blinked. “What the hell does that mean? Anyway, listen, since we all know you’re the queen of matchmaking—” Harding crossed her arms with a smug smile—“then I doubt you’ll be surprised to know that I…find myself with a bit of a umm…”

It was a little harder to just blurt it out now that the time had come.

“Yeah, you’re in love with Blackwall, moving on, what’s the plan?”

Lean just stared at her, mouth wide open, sputtering. “I…why does everyone… _fenedhis_!”

“You swear a lot, for an elf,” Harding noted placidly.

Lean made a disgusted noise. “I’m about to wear a dress!”

This finally got a bit of a reaction out of the dwarf. “You’re _what_?”

“Yes, you see now what a state I’m in?”

“Wow. Okay, how can I help?”

“Here’s the plan.”

She spent the next ten minutes in the cabin with Lace, whose face related to Lean precisely how beautiful the dress was, and gave her a boost of confidence.

“Damn, Inquisitor,” she breathed as she stepped back. “But you need to make an entrance! You can’t just walk out of the stupid cabin like that…let me…distract him or something, and you go outside and up the hill a bit!”

“Lace, I think you’re getting a bit carried away—”

“Just do it!”

“Yes, Scout Harding.”

Lace grinned and hurried out the door; Lean stayed out of the sight, waiting until she caught a glimpse of Harding leading Thom through the central gates of the encampment. Then she darted out the door and to the left, exiting via the rear gate, and circling up the slope behind the camp, a path which conveniently led directly to Sigrid’s hut.

She closed her eyes and reveled for a moment in the feeling of grass beneath her feet; it had been too long since she frolicked barefoot, as any self-respecting elf ought to do on a regular basis.

“Yep, we’ll have it all done for her later today or tomorrow!” she heard Lace practically shout, and she covered her mouth to hide a giggle – her friend had gotten entirely too into her role as accomplice.

“Inquisitor?” Thom called, and she called to him from her semi-hidden spot in the trees.

When he turned the corner and began to ascend the path, he saw her.

His eyes went wide, and for a moment some strong emotion crossed his face – something like pain, or wonder, or both, and her breath caught. It gave her hope that maybe this was the right thing, but she still couldn’t be sure; she was still unpardonably nervous.

“That’s…Maker’s breath,” he murmured, and she suddenly felt intensely self-conscious.

“S-sigrid…gave it to me,” she explained, and his look of confusion deepend.

She turned away, convinced she’d misjudged the situation, should never have done something so stupid – why would the Inquisitor put on a damn dress in the middle of the forest? What excuse could she possibly have? She must seem so ridiculous…to her horror, she felt tears burning the back of her eyes.

*******

“Haven’t seen you in a dress since—” he broke off abruptly, remembering where, in fact, he’d last seen her in a dress, but it was too late.

She’d stopped cold, hands falling to her sides.

“I’m sorry Lean, I wasn’t thinking—”

She turned around slowly, and though her look was sad, it was different than the pain he’d expected to see.

“That dress was much fancier, wasn’t it, Thom?”

He regarded her with confusion; her tone was so wistful...he should have known better than to bring that up. “I…suppose, but this one is just as lovely in its way.” It wasn’t a lie, not by far – pale leather and soft white cotton, gathered in the front, and the long back made a sort of train. Obviously made for a much taller Avvar, but on her it was…magnificent. He swallowed. “I only meant…I was surprised to see you wear it.”

“Well, Lace noticed a seam coming undone in the—”

“Yes, but…seems so odd for Sigrid to gift you a dress, of all things, instead of, say, leather armor,” he mused, trying to maintain some façade of normal conversation. “I’ve definitely never seen an Avvar in a dress,” he added, unable to imagine the prospect.

She looked down. “I…she told me it was…well, never mind. I shouldn’t have, it was silly of me. We should just go back,” she said abruptly, hurrying past him, back the way they’d come.

Was she—was she crying? Dammit all, but he was an idiot!

“Leanera, wait!” He rushed after her, took her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense. You look…”

She turned, and the tears on her face confirmed his fear.

“I’m the one that’s sorry,” she whispered, looking at him sadly. “I should have known better. I should have left things as they were. I was stupid, and I—”

“What do you mean, Lean? Why should you be sorry? For what, for being the most beautiful creature alive?”

Her eyes widened, glittering in the afternoon light, the color echoing that of the forest around them.

The realization of what he’d said hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind raced – how to fix this? How to back track? Had he ruined everything?

She stepped closer. “Do you…do you really think I’m beautiful?”

He couldn’t do this anymore. She was well now, wasn’t she? She was recovered – she didn’t need him anymore. He would tell her the truth, and then leave.

“Lean,” he breathed, the word full of all the guilt he’d felt over the years he’d been with her. “I always have. Maker help me, I always will.”

She closed the distance, put a hand on his shoulder. Consoling him, perhaps? He didn’t know, but he would cherish this proximity to the end of his days; this and the memories of all those nights she’d laid next to him, peacefully sleeping.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she murmured, her eyes strange and bright; he couldn’t gauge her tone. Accusatory? That would make sense.

“We’re friends. Practically family. You helped me through so much, I didn’t want to insult you, ruin everything by—"

He broke off with a gasp as she stood on her toes, and in the second before her lips touched his he realized what was happening.

Then all reason left him; a groan sounded in his chest as he pulled her against him. Her right arm tightened around his neck.

Her lips were so soft and warm beneath his – he’d never allowed himself to imagine this moment, but it didn’t matter; it was far beyond anything he could have dreamed up.

He thought he might cry, himself, his emotions ran so high. Was this really happening? Or had he died, and the Maker saw fit to reward him with this gift?

Suddenly he registered the feeling of her warm back beneath his hands, the thin material of the dress almost no barrier at all.

Leanera…his Lean, finally in his arms, in the way she _should_ be—

But his doubts flared. As much as he hated to, he pulled away. Pushed back tawny tendrils of silken hair from her face.

“Why? Why are you…you can’t possibly…”

The look in her eyes almost convinced him.

“Why do you think?” she replied with a little laugh. “You shems are so complicated,” she teased, beginning to lean in again.

“You don’t—you don’t think you owe me, do you?” he had to ask. He couldn’t let it go unsaid – that could be the reason. She thought she’d asked too much of him, wanting him to sleep with her and do nothing besides. It was ridiculous; he would never expect anything in return. But he had to know.

“Of course I owe you,” she sighed, the teasing note falling away from her voice, and he cringed inwardly. He knew it, there was no way someone like her could—

“I owe you for always being there for me,” she whispered, kissing his chin. “And for standing beside me, asking nothing in return, even when it had to hurt you.” She kissed his cheek. “And for being my protector, guarding me from all manner of foes. Even from dreams, from demons…and demons that used to have a different name.” She kissed the corner of his mouth.

“But most of all I owe you for showing me the light that I had right next to me the whole time, even when I toiled through deepest darkness.”

“Lean…” _This_ was how she thought of him? His heart contracted, awe and disbelief warring in his chest.

She kissed him again, and this time he held her more gently, but only because he knew, now, that this was real, and she wasn’t going to disappear, or float away.

She stopped for air after a few minutes, then smiled and took his hand, dashing off in their original direction.

“Where—”

“You’ll see!”

He stumbled after her, barely even understanding what was happening. A minute later, they topped the rise, and a little circular cabin sat before them, covered in vines whose flowers were just closing as evening approached.

“It may be…a little the worse for wear,” Lean mumbled, pulling a hidden pin from her hair, and fiddling with the lock on the door. Almost immediately it popped open, but she stopped short on the threshold.

“What’s the ma—oh.” He stared over her shoulder at the tidy interior of the hut, two small lanterns lit on either side, a little table off to their right with a bottle, and a note.

In the center, a firepit, ready to be lit against the night’s chill.

And to the left…a large Avvar bed, its frame hewn from thick logs, covered with furs. “I…take it this wasn’t your doing?”

“N-no, I…I was far less confident of…oh my.” Thom could almost feel the heat radiating from Lean’s face as she approached the table, avoiding glancing at the bed out of sheer willpower, no doubt.

That’s what he was doing, at least, training his gaze on the bottle so his eyes wouldn’t stray.

“ _My friend felt your journey was imminent_ ,” Lean read out loud. “ _Thank you for all you’ve done, and good luck to you. Sigrid.”_

She dropped the paper on the table and took a deep breath. “Well, this is…unexpected.”

But at this point Thom could no longer ignore the implications.

“Lean…I understand you didn’t get all this ready but…you were bringing me here, in the first place, so…why?”

She turned to him, her right hand nervously pulling on the smooth wooden fingers of her left.

“I…I just thought…if we could be alone, for a bit, I could explain to you…I could convince you that we should…that you could…”

He crossed the room in a stride and took her face in his hands, her uncharacteristic shyness nearly his undoing. “As if you had to convince _me_ ,” he said roughly, claiming her lips once more.

The little whimper she made as she melted into his arms destroyed any defenses he might have had left, and he struggled to maintain control of himself.

But a moment later he pulled away, gasping, the taste of her warm on his lips. “Leanera,” he whispered, smoothing golden-brown hair back from her face. “I…” Still he hesitated, after all this. After her declarations, bringing him to this place. But he couldn’t help it; he’d held it inside for so long…

“What is it, my warrior?”

“I always loved that you called me that,” he admitted with a ghost of a smile. “Made me feel special.”

“You were always special to me, even if I didn’t understand how.”

“What does it mean, the name you call me now? Since your first dream—”

“ _Amelan_ ,” she said softly, and he nodded. “The literal translation means…guardian.”

He smiled, but she went on. “But to me, it means…beloved protector.” His heart clenched at the words – and the look on her face. “It’s…it’s a name I gave to…the man that I love.”

His chin trembled, and to hide it he laid his forehead against hers. Took a deep breath.

“You know, I think I’ve loved you since you showed up in the Hinterlands and sassed me into joining the Inquisition,” he breathed, smiling fully, now, at the memory.

“If only—”

“Don’t say it, love.” The word tumbled out so easily, he hadn’t even meant to speak it. But when he opened his eyes, she was smiling too, almost beatifically. “It doesn’t matter now – we’re here. We survived, and we’re together.”

She made a noise of assent, and they quickly resumed their previous activity.

Soon enough Leanera had pulled his shirt loose, and he quickly yanked it over his head; he worried, still, that she would be…afraid, or at least intimidated, by his sheer size. She was an elf, after all – elven men weren’t known for being…big. A certain one whose name he didn’t want to remember certainly wasn’t.

But there was no fear in her eyes as she slid her hand up his chest. In fact, to his shock, she closed her eyes, and pulled him close, laying her head against his heart.

Everything inside him contracted almost painfully, emotions so intense he thought it might give him a fever. He held her tight for several long moments; he could feel the smile on her face, and it overwhelmed him even more.

“Dorian said once,” she murmured, “that you were…what did he call it? Burly. Nice and warm by a fire.”

Thom snorted. “I feel like he might have meant it as an insult.”

She shook her head, as far as she was able to do so. “No, even back then he was…questioning my preferences. I suppose he was right to.”

He loosened his grip, but suddenly he noticed something that troubled him.

While her right hand was draped loosely about his neck…her left was hanging by her side.

“Is your arm troubling you, love?”

She looked away. “N-no. Not exactly.”

“Leanera…please. Tell me what’s the matter?”

She swallowed, didn’t look at him. “I just…I should have thought…” She paused, cleared her throat, and he really started to worry. What could have her so upset suddenly? “I should have thought to bring something that could…could cover it,” she whispered finally, her face pinched.

“Why, because it…does it get cold, or something? Your shoulder?” He still didn’t understand – the dress covered the tops of her arms now, so---oh.

 _Oh_.

He sighed and pulled her close again.

Reached down to grab her left hand, and pull it around to rest against his back. She looked up at him, her expression one he could hardly withstand. Shame, embarrassment, confusion.

“I don’t _care_ about that, love. Why would you think I do?”

“How can you not care? I’m…I’m hideous, I’m half a person! And I just….conveniently forgot all that but then…you took your shirt off, and you’re whole and beautiful and perfect, and I—”

Her voice broke on a sob, and he felt her pain as if it were his own. “How could you think you’re anything less than perfect,” he whispered against her hair. “Your arm is a symbol of everything that you’ve withstood, everything that tried and failed to kill you. The Anchor, and the abomination that tried to steal it, and the man _did_ steal it. And instead of just letting those things win, you decided to fight. And now you have a…a piece of _art_ that lets you do exactly that. You’re _more_ than perfect.”

She quieted, and finally leaned back to look at him. “I never knew you could be so…inspiring,” she whispered with a slight smile.

“Only when I’m feeling inspired,” he murmured. He wiped the remaining tears from her face.

“I still…feel awkward about it, but…if it doesn’t bother you I’ll try not to mind it,” she said tentatively, and he nodded. She could only do her best, and not having gone through the loss of a limb himself he could hardly say what that should be.

She confused him when she pulled his hand behind her neck. Closed his fingers around the cords there.

A shiver ran through her, and abruptly he realized what the tie was for, and what was about to happen when he pulled on it.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he drew on the leather cord, pulling it loose.

When the dress fell to the floor, he could not contain a gasp of gratification.

She was…stunning. Unbelievably so, more than perfect just as he’d said. Scars that others might call flaws just showed him how strong and brave she was.

He sank to his knees before her, laying his head against _her_ chest this time, hands sliding over her smooth expanse of skin the color of honey.

A scar on her shoulder – he remembered when she got that, just after he’d joined the Inquisition and they hadn’t yet honed their fighting style together. An arrow got past him, sliced through her leathers but just missed sticking into her flesh. He’d thought she’d stop taking him with her, then. But she just laughed about it as Solas stitched her up, dour-faced.

Another long one on her belly – that time she’d gone with Cassandra to find out what happened to the Seekers, and nearly been run through. Had it not been for Cassandra’s shield deflecting the blow at the last moment, Lean might have died.

He ran his fingers over it, then kissed it. She drew in a breath, laid her hands on his head.

This one on her hip... “Where did you get this one, love? It’s not old…”

“Several months ago,” she murmured, “before the Exalted Council. Venatori.”

“I was gone?” She nodded. “I’m sorry,” and he kissed that one too.

This time she gasped, and he heard something in the sound that emboldened him to trail his kisses lower. He looked up, making sure she approved; her perfect breasts rose and fell rapidly, her mouth slightly open, and he took that as encouragement.

He picked her up swiftly, smiling at her squeak of surprise, and laid her on the bed. Once there, he kicked off his own boots, and knelt next to her, peppering her torso, her hips, her thighs with kisses.

He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal even before he pushed her legs apart. Maker’s breath, the noises she made were already driving him mad, and the way she bit her lip as she watched him lower his head…

He throbbed painfully with need for her, but he was beyond glad he wasn’t allowed this precious gift as a callow youth – his first taste of her would have driven him over the edge if that had been the case.

If her skin was the color of honey, the warmth between her legs rivaled the taste of it; gently he spread her, his tongue darting over her softness, his own arousal growing with every sound that fell from her lips.

When his fingers slipped inside her, she spread her legs further for him. He was so hard already he thought he might die, but he wasn’t about to lay with her the first time and not make it count. He’d loved this woman for years, with never any hope of this – never even allowing himself to dream he might taste her one day, might touch her like this.

No, they would be here all night.

He slid his fingers in further, closing his eyes, groaning at how wet, how tight she was. He pressed upward, pushing, testing as he continued the motions of his tongue.

“Ah!” she gave a cry and raised her hips slightly, and he throbbed in response. _Don’t rush it, there’s time for that…_ He pushed up again. If he could just feel her come beneath his lips… “Thom—ah!”

He never thought he could be so aroused by the sound of his name, but the way she moaned it—Maker how would he survive this?

“Oh _gods_ —I— _please,”_ she whined, and then suddenly her hips jerked, and a pained groan fell from his own lips as she tightened around his fingers, her body pulsing with climax, a long cry escaping her.

She reached for him, panting, and he slowly withdrew his hand, wiped his mouth on the back of it. He raised to a kneeling position, breathing heavily – he had to get a little control, or he’d embarrass himself. He’d never been this aroused in his life – but then, he’d never been this in love, either, so that likely explained it.

He moved up, pushing his pants off as he went, and laid his forehead against hers for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, but he had to remember she had long slept alone, and he’d just felt how tight she was. He didn’t want to hurt her.

She ran a hand over his chest again, resting it over his heart. He thought she’d be more bothered by his chest hair, but she seemed to relish it.

“I love you,” she whispered, and he smiled, unable to help himself.

He was just…so damned _happy_.

He positioned himself, and slowly, watching her for signs of pain, he entered her.

He closed his eyes as a wave of arousal almost overtook him. _Slowly…don’t rush…_

He pushed, and far from showing signs of discomfort, Lean gasped entrancingly, her arm sliding around his back, her fingers curling into him.

Again; her brows drew together a little, and she bit her lip. Somehow it made him even harder, and it took every ounce of effort for him to stop when her expression so beautifully expressed pleasure with just an ounce of pain.

“Don’t stop, _amelan_ ,” she breathed. “Deeper.”

He groaned, and pushed; she cried out, nails digging into his back – but finally he was fully inside her. He waited a breath, two, for her to adjust, and then he couldn’t wait anymore.

The exquisite torture as he slid out of her, then thrust back in – he didn’t know how long he could stand it.

Again, and again – how could he slow down when she said his name like that—

He bent his lips to her ear. “I love you, Leanera,” he whispered raggedly as he pushed into her, and seeing that she kept her left hand still on the bed, he reached down, and linked his fingers with her wooden ones. “I love _all_ of you,” he insisted. If it took him the rest of his life he would convince her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but returned the grip of his fingers, and tightened her right arm around him.

Again, and again, a little harder each time, and he knew he couldn’t withstand it much longer. He hoped to make her come this first time, but if he didn’t, he would try again. He would learn her body, and enjoy doing so.

Then she wrapped her long, lean legs around him, and he lost what little sense he had left – drove into her once more—

And exploded with pleasure, his length throbbing deep inside her as he came, his very fingers tingling with the force of it. Her own gratified moan just intensified his climax, and he shuddered for several seconds before collapsing, remembering at the last moment not to rest his full weight on her.

Panting, he kissed her face, her hair. “I’m s—”

She covered his lips with her own, and he could feel her smiling. “Don’t you dare,” she said against his mouth.

“Of course, my lady,” he teased, withdrawing and turning them both over in a swift movement so she lay on top of him.

To think, they’d been close to this position before, and even then he’d managed to stifle any inappropriate thoughts…miraculous, really.

She was still smiling, her head tucked against his neck; he could feel the curve of her lips.

“I’m happy,” she said softly, and his arms tightened around her.

“I know the feeling.” He paused. “But I will work harder next time, I promise. And the time after that, and…”

She giggled, but then leaned up on her elbow. “But you need to know…it may be some time before I…I mean, before I’m not distracted by…” She wiggled her wooden fingers.

“Ah. Of course, well as you’ve seen I have other methods,” he reminded her with a wicked smile, and she laughed and collapsed back against him. “We can take all the time you need,” he whispered then, serious once more.

“Thank you, my love.”

His chest swelled as he took a deep breath, wrapped his arms even closer around her.

“Everything you call me is like music,” he murmured. “My name, the name you gave me, your warrior, any of it.” He smiled. “Hopefully when we’re old and gray you’re not calling me ‘that old bastard’, but I’d probably be fine with that too.”

She snorted. “I’ll find something really insulting in Elvish, then you’ll never know,” she retorted, tracing her hand over the muscles in his arm.

“I’ll have you know I’ve learned at least thirty words since I met you.”

“Really now? You’re practically fluent!”

“Well, most of them are swear words.”

“Make sense, considering who you learned them from.”

He stared at the ceiling of the hut, faint glow from the lanterns playing across the thatch. “I still can’t believe I’m not dreaming,” he whispered.

“Why were we both so ridiculous?” She kissed his neck, and his eyes fluttered closed. “Both of us so convinced…of the complete opposite of the truth…”

“Well, I have far more of an excuse, if you’ll pardon me for saying so.”

“Yes, I am aware, no need to be so smug about it.”

He smiled, threading his fingers into her hair. “You almost killed me asking me to braid your hair, you know.”

She made that noise again – the same one she’d made that day, but this time more pronounced, a near-purr against his neck. “That reminds me…why did you leave so abruptly? I was so embarrassed…it almost convinced me to give up…”

“Give--! I knew you were tormenting me on purpose!”

He felt her chuckle. “I wasn’t _tormenting_ you! I was…testing…”

“Mhmm. I left because if I’d stayed another second I might have kissed you and I just knew you’d murder me.”

“Shows what you know.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

He paused.

_“Skyward, one last trek she made // To her lover, dream-delivered // Raven-feathered, reunited // Hearts both whole, now neither aching.”_

Though she’d seemed on the point of falling asleep, she raised up abruptly, and he saw tears glittering on her lashes. “You…you memorized it?”

He put a hand to her face. “I was so sure I’d never be allowed what they had…their happy ending, even after all that strife. And yet…here you are, my leaf-eared lover.”

She squeezed him forcefully with her right arm, burying her head in his neck again, and he could feel the damp of her tears against his skin. But he knew they weren’t tears of sorrow.

His own eyes were wet with the same intensity of emotion.

“Dream-delivered,” she whispered.

Hearts both whole, now neither aching.


End file.
